An Assassin's Resolution
by Hongahram
Summary: In the midst of an devastating political conflict, two assassins struggle against all odds, against reason and their own creed, to protect what is important to them. The choices they make alter the strings of fate of those around them.
1. The Starling

Reuploaded to make some minor changes!

* * *

_Three months from now, North of Geffen_

The sound of death clanged out through the misty morning air, ringing, flashing, singing. Amidst a field filled with corpses and bodies, two warriors exchanged blade strikes in a deadly dance. One fatal slip-up would mean death; the slightest hesitation, defeat.

At long last, one of the men lost his focus. Within a split second later, his opponent executed a complex disarming maneuver and quickly ran his katars through his stomach. He collapsed, life fading away, strength stealing into darkness. The victor, exhausted and close to unconsciousness, followed soon afterwards. He had not come out unscathed; numerous cuts riddled his body, more than half of them poisoned. He closed his glassy green eyes, the light of life slowly dripping away.

"Argos... Argos where are you?..." the man whispered. The air next to him shimmered, and a black haired young man in his late teens stepped into visibility. Argos had not escaped unharmed either. Blood dripped profusely from a cut on his arm, and it dangled limply by his side.

"...Spider." Argos knelt next to Spider and brushed his senior partner's matted brown locks out of his face with his uninjured arm, the blood from his gloves leaving small traces. Argos wasn't sure if it was his or somebody else's. His red ember like pupils were slightly dilated from a mild dosage of poison.

"I've not much longer in this world, Argos. I'm going to die," Spider wheezed. "In my belt holster..." He coughed; blood trickled out of his mouth and nostrils.

Argos nodded. Both of them were well prepared for this. The path of the assassin was riddled with death, and ended early. Both of them had doomed themselves the moment they walked down this road. He reached into Spider's belt holster and pulled out a strange, white, spiraling spear head, quite small in size.

"Are you ready?" Argos asked.

"Dumbass. I wouldn't have started this if I weren't."

The morning mist turned into a drizzle, painting the air a smoky gray. Spider felt the tautness of his muscles melting away already; the poison coursing through his blood deadening the pain.

"See you later, sport." Spider whispered.

Argos nodded. He plunged the spear-point into Spider's stomach. The older assassin immediately stiffened, then without a sound, went limp.

* * *

_Present day, Desert town Morroc_

Two cloaked figures stood before the dusty yellow entrance of Morroc at high noon. In the desert town, it was hardly unusual to see such suspicious characters walk about – traveling cloaks were standard garbs for desert survival, and considering that the desert town had quite a shady background, the only suspicious people would be the one who didn't look suspicious. Nevertheless, that day seemed to be livelier than usual, merchants hocking wares in street vendors, old men playing board games in the shelter of the shade, children running and playing games with sticks – and of course, suspicious characters wearing cloaks, walking into alleyways and once in a while deftly nabbing merchandise from the less-than-watchful merchants; all bathed in the golden yellow light of the afternoon desert sun.

The taller of the two cloaked figures at the entrance of the town turned to face his traveling companion.

"It's such a shame, though." he said cordially, pulling off the hood of his cloak. He was a man in his mid twenties, quite handsome with a cheery disposition. "I've escorted you here like you asked for but..."

The shorter of the two, a blonde woman who looked about as frightened of the man as he seemed friendly, took a couple of nervous steps away from him. Her face was mostly covered by her hood, which was pulled low over her head.

"Wh-what is it?" she stammered. The man casually flipped his chestnut brown locks out of his face with a flick of his head. He stepped forward and adjusted the clerical emblem of the Prontera church that was pinned onto the woman's traveling cloak.

"Well," the man sighed. "I just thought that for a such a beautiful woman as yourself, it'd be a shame if I let you go without buying you a drink first... You know, there's a charming little pub at the edge of the town that - "

"HereistheremainderofyourpayI'mverysorrybutIreallymustgonow- " the woman squeaked, her voice growing higher and higher in pitch as she talked. She shoved a small brown cloth bag into the man's hands and disappeared into the bustling crowd as quickly as she spoke.

The man stared in the direction that the priestess ran, his mouth slightly open in disappointment.

"...serves the best Morroc fruit wine..." His voice trailed off. He shrugged and gave a resigned smile. "Should have expected as much from a priestess," he said. "Prudes, the entire lot of them." The man loosened the purse-strings on the bag and peered inside. "And this one overpaid me from the looks of it..."

"If you are complaining, Yaxely, shall I take it?" another man called from the dark alleyway to Yaxely's right. The traveler tightened the strings, tossed the bag into the air and caught it.

"Hey hey now," Yaxely said. He pulled open his cloak to reveal a myriad of daggers, a short sword, and a wickedly curving set of katars, all of them caked with dried blood and slipped the bag of coins into a belt pocket. It was now clear why the priestess had been so afraid of Yaxely. "I worked hard for this money." The weapons disappeared once more under his cloak. "But sheesh, Hama, that priestess sure had a good reason to want a bodyguard."

Hama, a bald man in his forties with a black mustache and glasses, stepped out of the shade of the alley and into speaking distance of Yaxely. He wore fine silks and had a fat jangling bag of currency on his belt, but a pair of damascus blades next to it kept pickpockets away.

"I am sure most of your company were more interested in you, rather than some no-name priestess. After all, you are the Assassins guild's famous Quint Yaxely."

"Oh stop it," Yaxely bantered light-heartedly. "You're making me blush." Hama smirked.

"So," Yaxely continued. "What's the ever-so-busy Hama doing, personally greeting a common assassin like me? I take it you aren't just here to say hello?" Hama dropped his smirk. He reached into his sleeve and pulled out an envelope.

"I have a letter for you from a contact in Prontera. It seems as if he wants to thank you for the information he requested." Yaxely stepped forward and took the proffered envelope and Hama leaned forward into Yaxely's ear.

"... the guild leader wants to see you tonight," he muttered. "Another hit." Yaxely's eyes darkened.

"What time?" he asked.

"Eight o'clock at night, in the conference room," Hama whispered. And with a surprising display of speed and stealth, Hama vanished into the shadows of the alley where he was waiting before. Yaxely was left alone, staring at the spot where Hama was standing a second before.

"Old habits die hard, eh, Hama?" Yaxely muttered under his breath. "Should have expected as much from a former assassin." He broke into a casual gait up the main street of Morroc. With a flashy toss of his hand, Yaxely opened his cloak once more and tucked his envelope into another pocket, but not before plucking an orange deftly from a fruit stand. Not even most trained thieves could see him steal; it was an invisible and unnoticeable testament to his skill. The assassin waited after turning past the corner and ducking into a quiet bar and restaurant –_Muka House,_ Yaxely knew this without having to look up at the wooden sign - before indulging in his snack.

_Gotta say though_, Yaxely thought as he peeled his orange. _It's not often that the head wants to talk to me in person about a hit._ He slinked into a wooden chair at a table next to the fireplace, near the corner of the bar and pulled out the envelope he received from Hama. He slid his finger under the wax seal, ready to open it.

The _Muka House_, named after irritatingly screechy cactus-like creatures scattered around the desert of Morroc, was a poor choice of a name, considering how quiet of a restaurant it was. It was one of those comfortable restaurants where you could walk in with a handful of friends and talk without ordering anything, yet not quite well known. But in terms of privacy, it was a fairly excellent place to be; all the patrons minded their own business and ate/drank alone. Waiters and waitresses usually left you alone unless you asked for something.

Usually.

A young redhead woman in her teens, probably the owner's daughter, was wiping clean the table next to Yaxely's. She had eyed him curiously as he stepped into the restaurant. Yaxely pulled out his finger from under the seal and tossed the envelope on the table. He snapped his fingers at the waitress and flashed a lopsided grin at her.

"Hey there, pretty eyes," he said. "A small order of fried scorpion tails, if you please." She flushed, realizing that he had caught her sneaking glances at him, and hurriedly rushed into the kitchen.

Yaxely reached for his envelope once more and inspected the red wax seal on it. Judging from the emblem impressed onto it, it was a personal stamp from an officer in the Church in Prontera, or more accurately, the Crusaders. He had a fairly good idea who the envelope was from now. He turned the envelope to examine the seal at different angles. From what he could tell, it hadn't been tampered with. He slid his finger under the seal and broke it. He didn't bother to check the bar for other nosy onlookers; Yaxely just pulled out the letter inside and dropped it into his lap. It was a brief letter.

_Quint,_

_I received the letter you sent me without a hitch. From what you found out from your stay in Prontera, we can safely assume that Boss has been taking care of the starling. It seems like yesterday when she landed on our windowsill with that injured wing when it has actually been about a month ago._

_The new recruits the other day were a total mess, but there's one young swordsman who looks especially promising. He'll be promoted to knighthood tomorrow, I'm sure. Some of the recruits were impatient louts who haven't even completed the required forty levels of training, but this one completed all fifty. It's a shame that he's decided to aim for the knight's guild rather than the church; I would have liked to see him as a crusader. I've sent a letter of recommendation to the leader of the knights guild. I wouldn't be surprised if he managed to complete all fifty levels of the knight training within a few months. He's a work horse._

_Tabby is making roast savage pork-chops this Friday. You're more than welcome to drop by our home for dinner.Get here by six if you want it fresh._

_-Grant_

To an outsider, this was an ordinary letter, but Yaxely knew what the words really meant. 'Boss,' was a code name for the Prontera Church. 'Taking care of,' actually meant 'keeping tabs on,' or 'watching.' 'Starling,' was a code name for a person from a list of high profile people. He had an agreement between Grant and himself that in letters, only the first paragraph would hold any hidden meanings. He stared at the first paragraph again, narrowing his eyes in thought. Although it didn't confirm or deny anything, the meaning behind the letter from Grant had a heavy weight . Yaxely would have to pay a visit to Geffen for a couple of days to watch "starling."

The waitress walked back into the main room of the restaurant. "Your eyes- I mean, your order of fried scorpion tails, sir," she stammered as she placed the plate on Yaxely's table, her face flushing once more. The letter disappeared, safely tucked into Yaxely's cloak. He noticed that she had pinned up her hair in two complex buns.

"Thank you, Miss lovely-buns," he winked. This time, the waitress flushed all the way to her ears. He hadn't specified what kind of buns after all. She absent-mindedly began cleaning the already-clean table she was working on when he walked in, while Yaxely plucked a fried scorpion tail by the wooden skewer lanced through it and began eating. The first couple of crunches were pleasantly tangy and sweet; only after a few seconds did his tongue pick up on the mild red spices. _This is damned good,_ the assassin thought. He would have to try this dish more often. He began to play with suggestive puns in his head, wondering which ones were too racey and which ones weren't. Oh how fun it was to wreak havoc on young womens' emotions!

As he finished his meal, Yaxely decided that he'd spare her from any more innuendos (until next time) and just leave a generous tip. He dropped the small bag of coins that the priestess had given him, the remaining half of his pay for escorting her to Morroc. Gifts like these made peoples' days and the world flow. _What goes around, comes around, after all, _he mused, polishing off the scorpion tails with the orange slices he knicked from the fruit stand. When the waitress's back was turned, he slipped out of the bar unnoticed.

* * *

_The streets of Morroc_

The blonde priestess hurriedly made her way through Morroc's town square, determined put as much distance between herself and her former escort as possible. So distraught was she, that she didn't notice the repeated tugs on her sleeve until a child's voice called out to her.

"Miss! Miss, please!"

Startled, she looked down and saw a very skinny, tanned girl of about six years of age. She wore a simple, slightly dirty brown dress and had tears in her eyes.

"Oh!" she gasped. She couldn't even begin to think of what to say to the child.

"It's Momma!" the girl said in a high, tremulous voice. "She hurt herself back home and now she won't talk to me! Please, help her! Miss!"

The young woman felt the curious eyes of several townsfolk on her as she stumbled for words to say. She became very conscious of the clerical emblem pinned onto her cloak. She knelt down to face the child.

"There, there," she hushed, cupping the girl's wet cheek with her hand. "Tell me your name." She forced on what she hoped was a gentle smile.

The girl stopped crying abruptly. She stared back into the woman's face.

"Ra-Rachel," she hiccuped. The woman reached for a silver, winged locket around her neck and pulled it off.

"Shall I teach you a spell, Rachel?" the woman asked. She fumbled for a quill and scrap of parchment, then quickly penned something down. Rachel's face was aglow with wonder. She nodded. The woman folded the parchment into the locket, and pressed it into the child's hand.

"If you take this to mother, then she'll wake up and start talking to you again," she said, folding Rachel's fingers around the locket. Her voice quavered from the lie, but she forced herself not to lose her smile.

"Really?" Rachel whispered. She looked positively excited. "Promise?"

"I promise," the woman assured. The child's face shone with happiness. She threw her arms around the woman.

"Thank you miss!" The woman shook violently, feeling the townsfolks curious eyes slowly turn spiteful. Yet no one stepped up to question her, to challenge that obvious lie. A part of her desperately wished that someone would, and take enough pity on the girl to take her mother to a physician or a doctor. The girl's angry, betrayed face would be a thousand times better than the happy and naive smile she was giving to her. She felt her eyes begin to tear up, but she never broke that smile. The girl let go of her.

"I'm sorry, Rachel," the woman apologized. "I wish I could be there with you, but I have to go somewhere." The girl smiled.

"That's okay Miss! Momma is gonna be all better thanks to Miss... Miss? Why are you crying?"

Unable to control herself any longer, the young woman fled from the town square as fast as she could, feeling the eyes of the people around her bore into her back. She reached her destination a few minutes later, an empty room that she had arranged for ahead of time, but that run felt like the longest few minutes she ever had in her life. She ripped off the clerical emblem, collapsed on the floor next to the bed and burst into sobs.

"I'm sorry," she wailed. "I'm so sorry."

* * *

_Residence in Morroc_

Rachel sat next to her mother's cold body on the floor of their house kitchen, the winged locket set neatly on her abdomen. She played with her short auburn hair as she talked to an unresponsive mother.

"And then, that lady said if I take that necklace to you, that you would wake up," she bubbled excitedly. "She was so pretty too, and nice to me." Her enthusiasm died down. She lowered her head.

"I wish you'd start talking to me again, momma."

The afternoon light slightly illuminated the dim kitchen floor from an open window. Rachel waited, as the beam of light became more and more slanted, crawling to the opposite wall. Finally, she reached for the locket on her mother's stomach and opened it, pulling out and unfolding the parchment inside. It read:

I'm sorry

Rachel tilted her head and studied the parchment quizzically.

"I can't read it."

* * *

_Nightfall, Mage City of Geffen_

A tall, armored paladin with sandy blonde hair in his mid twenties cursed inwardly as he strode down the misty, moonlit cobblestone streets of Geffen, a squad of crusaders marching behind him. He had not expected the Church to act so soon. He could only hope that his letter would reach Quint soon enough to spur him into action. Part of him wanted to slow down, afraid of the scene that would be waiting for him, but all the same, he increased his strides. _Please make it in time,_ he prayed as he reached Daphne's house. A knight stood at attention at the entrance.

"Sir Graves!" the knight called, saluting the man. Grant Graves stopped abruptly. The silvery white plates of his armor clinked together softly. Moisture from the mist was condensed onto them, giving a soft, glittering effect.

"Report!" he barked.

"Daphne Trenton is nowhere to be found. We've searched her household and issued a public warrant for her arrest. Several civilians are being questioned as we speak, sir," the knight said. Grant heaved a mental sigh of relief, but he narrowed his eyes in an expression of frustration.

"You fool!" Grant growled. The knight flinched. "Now she's CERTAIN to run away!" _Nevermind the fact that common civilians wouldn't know anything about the extremely secluded Daphne Trenton, good job,_ he thought. "I want that warrant recalled as soon as possible. Mobilize the cavalry – "

"But Sir – " the knight tremored.

"I must be hearing things," Grant interrupted. "I could have sworn that a rank and file knight questioned my orders." The knight immediately shut his mouth.

"Dispatch the cavalry when you find out where she is and deliver her to the capital," Grant continued. "That's an order. Dismissed." The knight saluted, then marched away from his post.

"At attention," he called to his squad. The crusaders saluted, then stood in an orderly block where the knight was standing before. Grant stepped inside the household, looking around at the mess the search team made.

He had his suspicions for a while, but this was definitely the nail in the coffin. The Boss wanted the starling dead, and the fact that he had brazenly taken such an action as good as confirmed it.

_But really... where is she now and who took her away?_ Grant wondered.

* * *

_Nightfall, Assassins Guild Headquarters Entrance_

A teenager with black hair and red ember-like eyes stood at the gaping maw of the temple used as headquarters. He scowled at the pair of sentries standing guard; they scowled back. The moon hung high in the desert sky, bathing the sands and the temple in a melancholy blue. A sultry wind shuffled past the three of them, swaying the palm trees and brushing against the temple. This was a common greeting among assassins. No exchange of words, not even a facial gesture or hand signals. And strangely enough, only assassins seemed to have mastered sending this silent and nonverbal communication, and only assassins knew when someone was trying to imitate it.

"Hurry up and get in, newbie," one of the guards growled, finally breaking the silence. Even more remarkably, assassins could use the locking of eyes as a fairly accurate determinant of the other's skill. Wordlessly, the young man tilted his head in acknowledgement to the guard that spoke, then disappeared into the temple entrance. The darkness engulfed him. It was deafening, all-encompassing. His footsteps echoed off the stone floor down the hallway; the timing between echoes was more than enough to gauge the size of the space in front of him. Eventually, his eyes got used to the dark, and he began to see a better picture of the inside of the temple.

He was now in a circular room with ornate marble pillars. He could see the faint outline of closed doorways with light seeping out from the bottoms. A large iron statue of a grim-faced assassin cross, the highest rank an assassin could achieve, stood in the center of the room, carrying a cloak in one hand and a dagger in the other. The statue was of the most notorious assassin in the history of the guild, Guile. The cloak represented stealth, shadows, and secrecy, while the dagger symbolized a snake's bite, a scorpion's sting, lightning quick death. They were the two most vital tools of the assassin. Rumor had it that Guile could not only turn invisible on whim, but walk through solid walls as if they were not there. Another rumor stated that he never even existed. Frankly, the young man was more inclined to believe the latter.

After exchanging scowls with Guile's statue, he made his way to the furthest door in the circular room and knocked twice.

"Enter," a deep voice said. It was the guild leader. The young man pushed open the door into a dimly-lit conference room.

The guild leader himself always sat in the shadows; only his most trusted advisors knew his true face. One of them, a bald man named Hama with a black mustache and glasses stood not too far from him. The young man had met Hama before. He had tried scowling at Hama, but the older man had just ruffled his hair and called him a "cute brat." Later, he realized that he was missing several coins; he had learned his lesson.

"If it isn't the cute brat from last week," Hama greeted. The young man gave an irritated grunt.

"Cute brat?" the leader asked in his deep, rolling, baritone voice.

"A story for another time, I think, Master," Hama said. "This one's real name is Richard King."

"Ah," the leader commented. "The one you told me about with those special _eyes_. Come closer, Richard, so that I can look at them myself."

Richard took a few steps closer to the leader, but not too close. That would have been viewed as a threat, and the leader could have easily signaled a handful of assassins to strike him dead on the spot if he saw fit. For a brief moment, Richard and the leader locked gazes, red irises met tar-black irises, then the young man looked away. Any longer, the leader would have considered that a personal insult, and have him sent on a suicide mission to assassinate the king in broad daylight while surrounded by the royal guard. The leader began to laugh, but his voice held no mirth.

"Those eyes," he said. "In a world where psychological battle is just as important as the meeting of blades, those eyes will be a blessing, cute brat." Richard stiffened.

"Well," Hama said nonchalantly. "contrary to what you might think, we did not summon you here to call you petty names. You have a mission, and you will be accompanied by a more experienced partner." He waved his hand casually. "Yaxely."

Partnership in the assassins guild weren't meant to be long lasting. They were always between a freshly turned assassin and a seasoned one. In the case that the new assassin failed his or her mission, the older assassin would finish the job and then finish his partner. It didn't matter to Richard. Failure meant death anyways; whether it came sooner rather than later made no difference to him.

Richard felt a presence behind him. He turned around and saw a taller man in his mid twenties with wild chestnut locks and an assassin cross uniform. He had an assassin cross for a partner! Startled, he forgot to give Yaxely the assassins' traditional death-glare greeting.

"At your service," Yaxely said evenly. There was something about his green eyes that didn't seem entirely friendly. Hama stepped forward and handed Richard a black envelope.

"The two of you are dismissed," the leader rumbled. "Spend tonight debriefing each other on your abilities. The name and location of your hit are in that envelope. You have three days of preparation to silence her."

Yaxely's eyes narrowed significantly when the leader mentioned "her," but he said nothing. Richard studied his partner's face quizzically. Without a sound, the two assassins turned and left the conference room.

"That way," Yaxely motioned casually, pointing to the door to their right. It was the training room.

_This guy isn't wasting any time, _Richard thought. Under his cloak, his hand surreptitiously crept to one of his katars at his side as the two of them changed directions and headed for the mentioned room, with Yaxely following behind him. His footsteps were unusually soft, even in the echoing chamber.

Without warning, Richard whirled and thrust his katar towards Yaxely, spinning his arm as he lunged. Yaxely had apparently been anticipating this; he side stepped the attack and snaked his dagger wielding hand around the offending arm, and stopped the dagger point an inch away from Richard's neck. Both of them froze, their eyes locked.

This was the assassin's way of fighting in its purest form. The cloak, symbolizing stealth and shadows; the dagger, representing lightning fast death. Inside that circular room, in the presence of the statue of Guile, these two assassins, for the briefest of moments, were simply assassins. Nothing more, nothing less. Being assassins purely for the sake of being assassins. The art of killing perfected.

"That was a nice attack there," Yaxely commented. "It almost caught me off guard."

"As if I could win against an assassin cross," Richard countered. "I could only hope to surprise you." There was a pause, a baited breath.

"Spider," Yaxely said. "That's my codename. I don't make a habit of telling it to people, but I'll make an exception for you." He released his snake hold on Richard.

"Richard King, codename: Argos," Richard said.

"Are you ready?" Spider asked, readying his dagger once more. Argos smiled, the first smile in a long time.

"I wouldn't have become an assassin if I weren't."


	2. Rivalry Yet to Happen

* * *

_Tuesday morning, Prontera Churchyard_

The churchyard outside Prontera church was fairly small and friendly. The healthy green lawn was adorned with a handful of moss-lined headstones in neat and orderly rows. A man in his sixties, with graying hair and a white robe and stole waited and hummed to the sky, tapping an gilded, silver staff with his fingers to the rhythm. Not too far from him, a handful of soldiers stood at attention, all of them bearing the insignia of the Church on their armor. The approaching sound of gently clinking metal plates told him of someone's arrival. It was Grant, wearing a full set of paladin's armor. He knelt on bended knee and lowered his head.

"Ah, the famous Chevalier paladin of the Crusaders," the old man greeted. "It's good to see you again."

"Likewise, your Eminence," Grant said. "It is nice to see you in good health."

"Never felt better, my lad," the Pope responded happily. "On such a lovely day like this, it would be a shame to stay inside."

Grant was sure that the Pope didn't summon him to the churchyard just for idle chit-chat. He remained silent; the Pope was sure to cut to the chase if he didn't say anything to contribute to the meaningless front. A small, irritating tic in his thigh began to rise. The Pope cleared his throat.

"I trust that you have heard of the situation regarding the fugitive Daphne Trenton?" he asked, in a more serious tone.

"I have, your Eminence," Grant replied. He knew where this was going now.

"What is your opinion on the matter?" the Pope continued. He began inspecting his nails as he asked, as though the subject were a comment on the weather, or last night's dinner.

A cold bead of sweat formed on Grant's brow. It suddenly occurred to him that the Pope could have been the one behind the charges. Why hadn't he anticipated this earlier? He would have to be careful on how he responded. If he simply told him what he wanted to hear, then the Pope would think he was lying to him. If he told him how he really felt, then the Pope would somehow use his position to limit Grant's circle of influence. The correct answer would be...

"You mean the alleged charges of treason against the crown that have been pressed on to her, your Eminence?" he asked after the moment's pause. The Pope didn't not respond to this, choosing only to survey him critically.

"Daphne Trenton fled her apartment yesterday morning at the latest," Grant went on. "Of the civilians that were questioned, none of them knew of any plans that she had for traveling. She took only what she needed and left probably at the last minute. She had a very good reason; she is obviously hiding something."

"And what of the rumors that the charges of treason are groundless, and the Church is using them as an excuse to execute Miss Trenton?"

Grant didn't miss a beat. "Rumors are after all, rumors. Baseless gossiping of townspeople with limited facts and overactive imaginations."

The Pope rubbed his chin thoughtfully, but the paladin knew that it was a farce. "So, what would you do in my shoes?"

_The moment of truth!_ thought Grant. _And I'm lying through my teeth!_

"I would secretly dispatch a squad of riders to bring her to the capital, have her interrogated, then finally, executed." But of course, had Grant the choice, he would never choose such an option. The Daphne Trenton he knew was a simple witch with no political agenda.

"Like how you issued the order to recall my public warrant for her arrest?" the Pope asked, smiling.

Grant's eyes widened in surprise; he couldn't help himself.

"My sincerest apologies, your Eminence!" the paladin said quickly. "If I had known that it was your order that – "

"That's quite alright, lad," the Pope said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "The poor knight that you ordered around last night reported this to his superiors. By the time the news reached me, I thought perhaps your decision was for the better."

The paladin wasn't sure what to say. "What of the knight then?" he began. The pope chuckled.

"He has been neither rewarded nor punished," he said. "I feel he made his decision remarkably well, considering the mix-up last night."

"I see," Grant said. He tried valiantly not to sound relieved.

"Speaking of knights, I hear that we are about to have seven new ones added to the Prontera Chivalry," the Pope said. "I have been very interested in watching the acension ceremony. Would you care to join me?"

* * *

_Prontera Chivalry_

A handful of swordsmen, wearing fresh knight's armor stood side by side in a line outside of the barracks. In front of them, a golden haired lord knight wearing red and black armor paced back and forth, giving them a critical glare. Behind him, stood six knights of various high ranks at attention. Their ceremonial armor shone in the morning sun.

"All of you have worked desperately," he said. "There isn't a single one of you who hasn't fallen down because of this thorny path."

The lord knight stopped pacing, and turned to face one of the swordsmen, a young man in his teens with short, streaked blonde hair.

"In that sense, you seven are no different from the rest of the candidates that applied for knighthood." He began pacing again. "Then what separated you from them? Is it strength? Focus? Was it perhaps skill, that set you above the bar?"

He stopped pacing once again and turned to face the group. "There isn't a single person who can tell you that. The qualities of a knight aren't something that can be easily described with one word." He drew the huge sword strapped to his back, a gleaming Schweizersabel, and pointed it at the group.

"Listen well! In this world, there is always someone stronger than you! Just as you have learned from your previous falls, the road all of us walk is thick with thorns, cold and unforgiving. All of you will undoubtedly fall again and again. You will probably wonder why you trying so hard. But only the strong ones stand back up. Although I can't tell you what a knight embodies, I can tell you what strength is. It is up to you to determine for yourself, what being a knight truly means." He re-sheathed the Schweizersabel.

"These men and women behind me recognize your efforts. Go forth and discover for yourselves, the meaning of a knight!" He and the six knights behind him saluted the swordsmen in unison; the seven newly turned knights saluted in response. "Dismissed!"

The sound of clapping alerted them to a spectator. The lord knight who had given the speech turned and noticed the Pope applauding, and Grant, not too far away. He briskly marched towards them.

"Sir Graves," he greeted, with a salute. "Your Eminence," he added, kneeling on bended knee.

"Chivalry Captain Herman," Grant said, saluting in return.

"That was a marvelous speech," the Pope said to the lord knight. "But please, do stand up."

"Thank you, your Eminence."

"How do you feel about the new recruits?" Grant asked. He had one particular knight in mind.

Captain Herman paused, then looked over to the seven knights receiving chivalry emblems from their six seniors. He rubbed his neatly trimmed beard.

"There's one that stands out particularly above the rest," Herman said quietly. "Though it's better you don't let him hear that; it might destroy his work ethic."

"The one who completed all fifty levels of training?" Grant asked again. The Pope perked up at the sound of this.

"Aye, you've heard of him, then," Herman stated, rather than asked. "I hear Sir Grey received a letter of recommendation, was it you who sent it?"

"I did indeed," confirmed Grant. Herman gave a low whistle.

"For the famous Chevalier of the paladins to give a letter of recommendation," the Chivalry Captain said. "Now that's something that doesn't happen every day."

"Please don't think so highly of me," Grant replied. "A letter of recommendation from even the king himself wouldn't turn a novice into a lord knight. That knight earned his title; I simply pointed that out."

"So... which one of those young lads..." the Pope asked, peering over to the group. Captain Herman looked over to the knights again.

"That blonde one standing by himself... oh no, he's let the other six receive the emblems. I was supposed to be here giving this one to one of them." He fiddled with a red velvet box holding the Chivalry Emblem. "Would you like to meet him, your Eminence?" he asked the Pope. Grant shot Herman a significant look, which Herman noticed.

"Oh yes, please," the Pope said. He began walking towards the knight, with Grant and Herman flanking him. Grant began sending Herman a wild series of hand gestures, which apparently, Herman understood.

"Reinbach!" Captain Herman called. The young knight promptly turned and saluted. At the sight of the Pope, he knelt down on his knee.

"Quite formal, this one," the Pope whispered to Grant. The paladin nodded. "You may stand," the Pope added.

"No, he's fine like this, your Eminence," Herman said. He drew his Schweizersabel, and lightly tapped Reinbach once on each shoulder, and once on his head. "You may stand," he said, re-sheathing the broadsword. He presented the knight with the red velvet box.

"Thank you Captain Herman," Reinbach said, receiving the chivalry emblem.

"Well then, Reinbach," said the Pope. "I was wondering if you had any plans for today." Both Herman and Grant exchanged glances.

"Actually, your Eminence, Reinbach must begin train – " begun Captain Herman.

"I was hoping that Reinbach would join me in – " Grant quickly said at the same time. They both stopped.

"Yes?" asked the Pope.

"Ah, after you," Grant motioned to Herman.

"Uh, no, no, it's quite alright," Herman said, shaking his head.

"Well, I was hoping that Reinbach would join me in a training session," Grant improvised, thinking quickly.

"Aaah! That's just perfect!" Herman said enthusiastically, slapping his fist into his palm. Newly appointed knights must begin their training at once!" The Pope looked disappointedly at the two men. He looked as though he had been denied a serious treat.

"My my, it seems as if newly appointed knights certainly have it tough," he chuckled. "Why not let him rest for today?"

Reinbach's gray eyes were darting back and forth between the three older men, as if some sort of subtle battle of wills were going on. An awkward silence hung over them.

"If it pleases you, your Eminence," the young man said finally. "I am looking forward to beginning my knight training."

"You know the young!" Herman nearly shouted. "So competitive, looking forward to growing! Aah, how I envy youth!"

"That's how it is!" Grant continued, not missing a beat. "How about the training grounds then, young Reinbach?" The young man looked a little rattled, but nodded silently.

"But it's already lunchtime," the Pope protested. "Surely he can't train on an empty stomach!"

"Young men have no time for food!" Herman shouted to the sky. "Aye, always facing forward, they are!"

"This makes me want to do 1000 sword strikes!" bellowed Grant, apparently catching on to Herman's infectious enthusiasm. He clapped his hand down on Reinbach's shoulder and pumped his other hand into the air. The small ruckus the paladin and lord knight were causing caught the attention of the other knights outside of the Chivalry.

"Interesting!" Herman roared. He punched his armored gauntlets together, then clapped one hand on Reinbach's other shoulder. "I shall take that as a challenge, Sir Grant!"

"I have expected as much from you, Chivalry Captain Herman! To the training grounds!" The two of them dashed away from the Pope, while dragging Reinbach with them, armor clanking heavily.

The Pope was left standing by himself. He stared at the disappearing figures of the three men. "Isn't the training grounds the other way?" he shouted after them.

"Izlude training grounds!" roared Herman in response. "Half of the battle is getting there!"

* * *

_Desert City Morroc_

Two cloaked figures stepped out of the weapons shop in Morroc. The taller one, pulled off his hood. He looked slightly disgusted.

"Ugh," Spider sighed. "Not a single weapon in there worth holding." He ran his fingers through his chestnut hair. He turned and faced his companion. "You're telling me those icicle katars are the only weapons you use, Argos?" Argos nodded. At this, the assassin cross looked seriously put down. They began walking back to the town square.

"That's not going to get you anywhere, sport. Having a specialty is great and all, but variety is just as vitally important. Especially when you've got a pair of elemental katars like those. What will you do against a long-ranged ice property monster that you can't reach?"

The younger assassin didn't say anything to this. He just looked back at Spider. His senior partner sighed again, with a _what-am-I-going-to-do-with-you_ look on his face.

"Alright," Spider said. "Granted, there are assassin crosses out there who do perfectly fine with one set of katars, but more than likely, they've experimented around with different weapons and fighting styles before settling for a way of fighting that they prefer. Assassins are by nature, flexible and quickly adapt to many situations. They can use a multitude of tools. Swords, daggers, axes, a mix-and-match of those, katars, throwing knives," the assassin cross continued, as they walked past a fruit stand. An orange had mysterious appeared in his hand. He began peeling it. "There are just some things you can't do with a katar, and some things only a katar can do. Orange slice?" Argos silently walked alongside Spider.

"...Sure," he said, after a moments pause. He took the proffered orange slice from his senior partner and followed him into the residential district.

"I'm not telling you to suddenly start duel-wielding daggers in the heat of battle," Spider continued, as he chewed. "That's possibly the worst thing you could do during a fight. It just helps to have something to fall back on when the situation calls for it." They reached a house. Spider pulled out a set of lock-picks and began fiddling with the door.

"...Are you sure that's alright? What if someone's in there?"

"No one's in there, this is my house," Spider assured him. "I lost the real key some time yesterday, but I don't let small inconveniences like that bother me." The lock gave a satisfying click. "Ah, here we go." He swung the door open. "Come on in," he motioned to Argos, and stepped inside. The young assassin did likewise.

Spider's house was very small, but quite comfortable. It was obviously suited for a person living on his own; there was one bedroom with one bed in it. At the same time, there were a multitude of various objects, weapons, and tools hanging on the walls or on the shelf at the opposite wall, yet well organized. The assassin cross strode over to the far shelf.

"You've completed all fifty levels of thief training haven't you?" he asked Argos while staring at his collection of katars. The assassin _hnn_'d in response. He joined Spider in examining the weapons on the shelf.

"Not that you need all fifty, but that gives me a good enough idea of where you're at physically." Spider gestured to the katars. "My collection," he said. "Some of them I've requested to be made, others, found from treasures. The rest were taken from enemies that I killed." Argos didn't seem to be particularly bothered by the last sentence.

"Where did you get that?" he asked, pointing to a vicious looking pair of spiky, black katars.

"Those infiltrators? Aha, good eye you have there. Sorry, but I can't let you borrow that. It's worth too much," Spider said, ignoring the question. He lifted of a pair of katars with an unusual spiraling blade. "This one's a little tricky to use, but you should be able to wield them. Hey, let me show you something," said the older man. He readied the strange katars into a battle stance. "Raise your stance!"

No sooner had Argos raised his guard, Spider slowly thrust the weapons forward, to exhibit his movements. The ridges of the drill-like katar caught the blades of Argos's icicle katars. "If you swing like so," Spider explained. "And twist your arm like such," With a sudden brutal force, the icicle katars were wrenched out of Argos's hands. They clattered to the ground. "You can catch your opponent off guard by disarming him. Nasty little trick." He spun the unusual katars by their center of balance in his palms so that the handles were facing Argos. "Here, I'll let you play with these drill katars. You should try practicing switching weapons in the middle of battle. I'm thinking you can combine that with the icicle katars for a nice effect there." Argos gripped the handles of the drill katars.

"Utilize the icicle katars' innate freezing ability to numb the opponents fingers," the young man mused out loud. "And then switch to the drill katars to force their weapon out of their hands."

"Exactly!" Spider smiled, winking. "If you can get the timing down pat for the switch, it should be a great strategy for those long, drawn out battles. Perfect against armored tanks like crusaders or knights. Just don't try smashing them through shields, or they might break."

Argos stepped back from Spider into the center of the room and began practicing some basic maneuvers. The assassin cross picked up the icicle katars on the ground.

"Hey, think fast!" Spider shouted, tossing the weapons handles first towards Argos. The younger assassin immediately clipped the drill katars onto his belt and reached out to snatch the icicle katars from the air. They bounced harmlessly against his shoulders and fell to the ground. Argos gave an irritated grunt.

"Heh," Spider chuckled. "Looks like you need a bit of work."

* * *

_Satellite City Izlude_

Sweat poured down the muscled torsos of the three men in the training grounds.

"Four-hundred ninety-seven!" shouted Herman, Grant and Reinbach together, swinging wooden training sticks as they counted. "Four-hundred ninety-eight! Four-hundred ninety-nine!"

"Five-hundred!" Grant finished. They stopped, panting for breath.

"A break, for now," the lord knight said between breaths. Reinbach looked especially winded. He sauntered over to the shade of the trees and collapsed on the grass next to their equipment. Herman took this opportunity to talk to Grant.

"So what was that all about back there?" he muttered. Grant briefly glanced around to check for any other people; Reinbach was the only one.

"Pope Hibram chose me for a mission," the paladin informed. "He tasked me with the retrieval of the starling for charges of treason against the crown." Herman's eyes widened in shock.

"You don't think that the Pope..." he whispered.

"At this point, I don't want to take any chances," said Grant. "I found out that it was he who also issued the public warrant for her arrest."

"This is getting stickier by the day," Herman's face darkened. "I see. So you didn't want the Pope to meet privately with Reinbach because of any influence he might spread to him?"

"The Pope already suspects that I'm on to him. It was important that we talk to him about this matter first rather than the Pope. If we do this correctly, we might find a valuable use to Reinbach as one of the Pope's guard."

"A mole, huh?"

"Exactly. But the problem is whether Pope Hibram will trust this young knight and put enough faith in his abilities for such a role, and whether Reinbach will trust us over the Pope."

"For the time being, let's go see how young Reinbach is doing right now," Herman suggested. Grant nodded. They walked over to where the knight was resting.

"How are you holding up?" Grant asked. Reinbach stood up and nodded.

"I can do more," he said. Herman chuckled.

"That's fine and dandy," the lord knight replied. "But resting is also an important part of training."

Reinbach nodded, but he looked a little impatient. "I was told that you were the one who sent Sir Grey the letter of recommendation," he said to Grant. "Thank you Sir Graves."

Grant shrugged. "Don't mention it. More importantly, I was wondering if you had any goals or objectives."

The young knight fell silent.

"Not really," he said with a thoughtful look on his face.

"None? No rivals perhaps? No one that you're chasing after?"

"He was the top in all his classes," Herman said. "If anything, everyone was chasing after him."

"Huh. It's tough being at the top, eh? Model student?"

"I did what I was told," Reinbach said slowly. "It seemed as if no one really cared for me. In a society that leaned heavily on order and absolute loyalty to the king, I felt that following orders quickly and obediently was the normal and proper thing to do." The paladin took note of this.

"Tell me. What did you think of the Pope today?" Grant questioned further.

"I didn't really know what to make of him," the knight said honestly. "But he seemed friendly."

"It's good that you place value in authority and fealty," Grant said. "That's very admirable. But following orders blindly could be your downfall, or lead to things that you regret. Thinking for yourself is also important."

"Sir?" Reinbach asked, looking confused. Grant bowed down and picked up a long, narrow, cloth wrapped object about as tall as his chest.

"It's a present from me," Grant said. "Go ahead and unwrap it." The knight did as he was told.

"A Zephyrus," Reinbach said, admiring the jagged, lightning bolt shaped spear head. Grant nodded. He stepped back and tried a few practice lunges. "It's light, and very fast."

"It's a wind element, so it should be very effective against water and ice types," Herman noted. "I remember back in my knighthood days how I always wanted one. Never did manage to get a Zephyrus, but I got over it; a Zephyrus isn't too special. Wasn't designed to target highly evasive opponents like the Gungnir series."

"No, it isn't," Grant agreed. "It'll take a lot of work, but you can start hitting assassins and rogues and the like with enough dexterity and focus training. You'd be able to hit assassins with ease, once you become more familiar with your weapon, and your weapon becomes more familiar with you."

The lustrous sheen of the green spear was reflected in Reinbach's gray eyes as he gazed at the zig-zag spear point.

"The weapon... will grow more familiar with me?" he asked. Herman laughed.

"It's not as simple as that," the captain said. "It'll take a lot of time to explain the subtle nuances that a weapon makes to conform to the wielder."

"Which reminds me," added Grant. "I've received a mission to Morroc. It'll take a day to travel there by peco. Would you like to come along?"

"Yes!" Reinbach said with a small smile. "I'm sure it can offer me an excellent opportunity to test this spear while we travel."

"Then it's settled! We leave tonight."

"But honestly," Herman rubbed his beard. "You should lighten up more. A strong weapon isn't what makes a strong warrior; it's the hard work that he does. You can start worrying about a stronger weapon if you ever meet someone who also completed all fifty levels of his apprenticeship."

* * *

_Morroc Residence_

"Starting to get the hang of it?" Spider asked.

"A little," Argos responded. "I'm still not very comfortable with the switch."

"That's how everyone feels when they first start learning how to do it. Knights, assassins, rogues, hunters, even wizards have different wands and rods to alternate between. Relax. You're a fast learner, and you've got good reflexes for dodging attacks."

Argos fell silent.

"Is there any situation where weapon switching might be impractical?" Argos asked after a while. Spider thought about this for a moment.

"I suppose there is," he said. "If both of your weapons, the one you're switching from and the one you're switching to, are disadvantaged against your opponent's weapon, there really won't be much of a point, while the split second delay might be fatal for you."

"I'm using two sets of katars..." Argos said. Spider nodded.

"If you fight a knight, for example, with a spear, and who makes use of that superior range, it's exceptionally fatal. Typically, you want to put some distance between you and your opponent before you start the switch. That's not a smart strategy against a knight who has longer reach."

"...Makes sense," the younger assassin noted.

"At any rate," the older man said. "I suppose it's about time we open that envelope eh? There's only so much time we can spend to train you before we start to lose preparation time for pulling off our hit."

The younger assassin clipped both sets of his katars to his belt, then pulled out the black envelope given to him by the guild leader. He slit it open with his finger, then pulled out a card the size of his hand.

"So," Spider asked. "Who are we supposed to kill?"

Argos scanned the card briefly, his red ember eyes flitting side to side.

"Daphne Trenton," he said. "Occupation: witch."

"Ah," Spider said. "I thought so." His face darkened. _So the pieces begin to fall into place, eh?_

* * *


	3. Cutting Tail and Red Eyes

* * *

_Morroc Residence_

"Daphne Trenton," Argos read. "Witch." He turned the card over. "Sources confirm that she is currently in Morroc." He looked up at Spider to see him deep in thought. A few moments passed in silence.

"Do you know her?" the red-eyed assassin asked. He looked back at the black and white picture provided of her with the card. She was a long haired woman in her late teens.

"Maybe I do," Spider answered vaguely. Argos didn't press further. "Why did you become an assassin?" Spider asked.

"...revenge." He stuffed the card back into the envelope, apparently not liking the change in topic.

"Ahhh?" the older man remarked. "So you had that kind of reason, huh?"

Argos brows knit together tensely. He clenched his fists.

"So, how about you?" Spider queried. "Do you know Daphne Trenton?"

"All we have to do is kill her, right? Then what's the point in knowing her? There's someone I have to kill, and I need to become an assassin cross to accomplish it. Targets like these are only stepping stones to my goal."

"As an assassin, I guess there isn't much of a point." He sounded a little disappointed. "I'm going out for a drink. It's a little habit I have before each hit."

Argos tossed the envelope onto a wooden desk and begun to follow him.

"Hey hey now," Spider said. "You're under-aged, sport. No drinks for you."

"...and killing people is legal?"

A wry smile grew on the assassin cross's face.

"As long as no one finds out. I'll be back in an hour." He stepped out of the doorway. "Why don't you find something to do until then?" he called back over his shoulder, closing the door.

_What a shame, _Spider thought._He was just beginning to grow on me. Looks like he won't be getting his revenge after all._

He didn't really think about where he was going. Some time later, he found himself outside of the _Muka House_.

"Heh. What am I doing here?" he asked out loud, half disbelieving, half scoffing at himself. His legs carried him inside, to the bar section of the restaurant. The bartender, a portly man in his 40's, did a double-take as he saw him.

"Hey you," he said gruffly. "The waitress yesterday picked this up from your table." He held up a house key.

"...A dragonbreath cocktail," Spider muttered, sitting on a barstool. "No chaser." He took his house key from the bartender and dropped several silver coins on the counter. Dragonbreaths were expensive, after all. He looked to the left outside the window as the bartender began working on his drink. From here , he had a fairly good view of the town square. He recalled the assassins guild leader's secret orders that he received the previous night.

* * *

_The night before, Assassins Guild Central Hall_

"Richard will be here in about ten minutes," Hama said, as he buffered the statue of Guile to a black luster. The moon could still be seen through the small circular glass window at the ceiling, casting the room in a subtle glow. "I suggest you talk to the leader before he arrives."

"Sure, sure," Spider said nonchalantly, striding over to the conference room. As he stepped inside, his carefree demeanor vanished, a hardened mask replacing it. The dimly lit room made his face seem darker.

"Ah, Spider, is it?" a deep voice asked. "You're late."

"At your service," the assassin cross said. Any trace of friendliness was gone from his voice, leaving only cold, hard, efficiency.

"This isn't really your hit, per se," the leader explained. "You're going to have a junior partner for this mission, it belongs to him. Your job is something more important."

Spider remained silent in rapt attention. _Not my hit? Then why bother sending an assassin cross like me to babysit a newbie?_

"When the target dies, there will be a considerable uproar," the leader explained. "And we will need a scapegoat for that situation to ease that political backlash. This is something only your partner can do. It can't be anyone else. And we don't want to waste valuable assassin crosses for this purpose; your type, after all, are hard to come by."

The assassin cross knew where this was going. He didn't like the sound of it at all.

"If your partner fails his mission, finish it for him, then finish him. Arrange the scene by cutting tail."

_Standard assassination procedure..._Spider thought. _Depending on the situation, _w_e can make use of fallen assassins as scapegoats by placing their bodies at the crime scene and making it seem as though they died completing their mission. That way we won't have investigators chasing our tails, hence the name._

"If he does succeed," the leader commanded. "kill him regardless, and arrange the scene by cutting tail."

* * *

_Muka House_

Truth be told, Spider had no intention of killing Daphne Trenton. There would have been too much of an aftereffect if she died. Relations between Morroc and the capital city Prontera had never been exactly friendly; a powder keg sitting next to a furnace. The 'starling's' death would be a spark guaranteed to ignite a war. He had just hoped that Argos would be sensible enough to think things over instead of blindly killing one target after the next. But it looked as though his revenge was more important than a stranger's death that would throw Morroc and Prontera into war, and possibly dragging other cities with it. Although Spider liked his new partner, it was clear to him that Argos had to be killed, and Daphne, protected.

"Your dragonbreath cocktail, sir," the bartender said breathlessly.

"...Thanks." Spider murmured, taking note of the hand with manicured nails that slid him the drink. _Wait a minute. Burgundy painted fingernails?_ His head shot up towards the bartender.

It was the red-haired waitress from the day before. The portly man in his 40's was gone.

"Did you get your key back?" she asked.

"Yeah," Spider said in a low voice. This would have normally been the time where he would make a snappy come-on, but he remained silent. _I'm just not in the mood now._ The assassin cross took a deep drink of the deep red spicy rum.

She began polishing glasses with a cloth, but didn't really move too far away from him.

"You seem down," she ventured. The waitress seemed to have lost some of her shyness from yesterday.

"Yeah," Spider repeated. The waitress studied his face for a moment.

"What's her name?" she asked.

"...Richard," he replied, not really paying attention.

"Excuse me?"

"I'm pretty disappointed in him," Spider explained. "I thought he would care, but it turns out he's just like the rest of them." He sighed.

"... Uh... I see..." the waitress stammered, fishing for words. "Well... this isn't exactly my area of expertise... but maybe if you explained your... feelings to him more clearly..."

Spider fell silent. He took another swig.

"Whenever I got a new partner," he finally said. "I tried my best not to get attached to them. But Richard... I had hope for him."

"What do you do for a living, by the way?" the waitress asked, deciding that this line of conversation was too depressing for the man.

Spider's face suddenly grew very austere.

"If I told you that, I'd have to kill you," he deadpanned. Both of them stared at each other wordlessly, then broke out laughing.

Spider looked over to the back wall behind the counter, where several wanted ads were displayed.

"...then my face would be on that wall there," he continued. " 'Man wanted for killing innocent buns.' "

The waitress's face burned.

The assassin cross began studying the wall in interest.

"Say," he began. "Who do you suppose the most dangerous one of those fellows is, anyways?"

"Well that's obviously the one with the highest bounty," she said, her face still a little flushed. "Alexei Volkov, fallen lord knight. Serial killer, wanted for five million zeny."

"That Alexei, huh? I've actually met him in person." A dangerous smile was on Spider's face. "Think a guy like me can handle him?"

"Wh-what do you mean by 'handle' ?" she yelped.

"Isn't it obvious?" He took another swig and returned his attention to the wall.

"How about that mysterious 'Spider' fellow?" he asked. "People don't even know what he looks like; he always has that funny looking mask on his face."

"Yeah," she giggled. "It looks so ridiculous. How scary can a man with a happy face mask be?"

"You don't think it's intimidating at all?" Spider asked with incredulity. "Don't you think it'll look a little scary, with that sinister, all knowing smile? Eyes that follow you everywhere, like they can look into your soul?"

"Now you're just making fun of me," the waitress laughed. "But honestly, his bounty is only half of Alexei Volkov's."

Spider said nothing about this. He looked outside the window into the town square. To his surprise, he saw Argos sitting at a bench, wearing civilian clothing.

"There he is, that Richard," he said in a low voice. The waitress leaned forward to look out the window.

"...He's quite a looker," she said encouragingly. "... and... oh no... he's talking with a woman..."

Spider turned his attention to the cloaked woman that approached him. Where had he seen that cloak before?

* * *

_Capital City Prontera, Residence_

A women in her early twenties with dark red hair in a pigtail sat at a cherry wood desk, scribbling notes on a scroll of parchment. She had on a deep red professor's uniform that matched her hair. Occasionally, she would look up to check the time on the grandfather clock at the corner of the room, the two braided tassels of hair from behind her temples swinging as she looked.

"Three fifteen," she sighed. "He's late."

The rattling sound of someone unlocking the door alerted her to the arrival of the latecomer the professor was referring to. She set down her grand-peco feather quill and stood up from her desk, leaving the study to greet him.

She entered a modest, but comfortable and well-kept living room with wooden floors. Above the brick fireplace hung a large silver shield with the Crusader emblem engraved on it. A handsome mahogany shelf loaded with books and scholars' notes stood against the wall. The door swung open.

"Sorry I'm late Tabby," Grant apologized, stepping into the room. "Something unexpected came up." He mouthed the word _Pope_. Instantly, Tabby's hazel eyes widened, but she regained her composure just as quickly when she noticed a knight standing behind the paladin.

"Oh hello," she greeted, smiling gregariously. "Who might you be?"

"This is Kristoph Reinbach, a knight. He'll be accompanying me on a mission to Morroc," Grant introduced. He gestured to Tabby. "This is Tabby, my fiancee."

Reinbach bowed stiffly. "At your service," he said.

"He's a little shy for eighteen," Grant joked, slapping Reinbach on the shoulder. "But that's his charming point!"

"Ehhh?" said Tabby, drawing out the syllable. "Such a handsome boy like yourself would get plenty of girls fawning over him if he got out more. Shall I introduce you to one of my female students? I'm sure they'd love to meet you!"

"I respectfully decline," responded the knight.

"Aww..." Tabby sounded disappointed. "But when's this mission to Morroc? It's my first time hearing about it."

"We're leaving tonight," Grant said in an apologetic tone. "Right about six o' clock, give or take an hour."

"Do you think you can stay around long enough for dinner?" Tabby asked. "It's been a while since we've eaten dinner together, much less with a guest."

"I can't guarantee anything, but I hope so."

Tabby gave a resigned smile. "Would you like anything to drink?" she asked Reinbach.

"It's quite alright," the young man said.

"Let me ask him," Grant chuckled. "After training, it's important to re-hydrate the body in order to maintain good health."

"Okay then," Reinbach assented. The professor chuckled and left for the kitchen.

"Have a seat," Grant gestured towards the sofa. He left the living room and followed his fiancee. He wrapped his arms around her from behind as she began preparing drinks.

"Hello, Mr. Paladin," she said affectionately.

"Hello, Mrs. Professor," he replied, playing along.

He lowered his voice to a whisper. "I suspect the Pope wants the starling dead," Grant muttered in her ear.

Tabby's hand slipped and dropped a mug into the sink. Fortunately, it didn't shatter.

"After I arrive in Morroc, I'll look for her," he continued. "But I'll tell her to run. If I'm lucky, I can find Spider and convince him to watch over the starling for a while."

"It'll be dangerous." she whispered. "Especially in the desert during this time of the season."

"I know."

"If you get caught, the Pope will have your head."

"... I know."

"No matter how long you take," Tabby said, turning to face him. "I'll be waiting." She wrapped her arms around him, head pressed against his chestplate.

"There's the woman I fell in love with," Grant murmured. They stood there like that, cherishing the intimate moment. "How about we eat dinner early?"

* * *

_Morroc Town Square_

Argos took a seat at the bench near the decorative fosse at the center of town. He tugged on the sleeve of the burgundy tunic he was wearing. Lately, he wore his assassin uniform so often that it felt unusual to be wearing civilian clothing. He felt very vulnerable without his katars.

_I should have trained more in dagger use, _he thought. In the bustling town square, any able-bodied man or woman could be a dangerous enemy. No, even the cripples and the children could be dangerous. His nerves were on high alert. At least if he had concealed daggers, he would be able to protect himself.

"Excuse me?" a young woman's voice called to him. Argos jumped slightly.

"I'm sorry, did I startle you?" the hooded woman asked. She had one hand extended to reach his shoulder and the other to hold her hood over her head. Despite her stepping into his personal space, Argos didn't feel threatened by her movements. _Wait, that's not exactly it... Even though she's covering her face, I don't really feel suspicious of her at all._

"...What is it?" he asked tersely.

"I'm looking for a child," the woman said. "I believe she's about this tall, with auburn hair, maybe about six years old. Her name is Rachel."

Argos shook his head. "I don't know such a person."

"Oh... I see." The woman's voice became very small, yet the assassin could still detect the tremor in it. "I apologize for bothering you." She turned to leave.

A sudden, inexplicable burning curiosity awoke in Argos.

"Who is she to you?" he asked. She paused.

"You were unsure about her age when you said she was about six years old," Argos stated. "You didn't seem very certain about her height either. And you hide your face, but expect to find a girl who can't see you. This girl is probably a complete stranger to you, yet you are still looking for her."

The woman turned around to face him again, but still kept her face hidden.

"... It's true," she said. "Rachel is a complete stranger to me. When I first saw her, I didn't know how to react. I suppose it was because of my sheltered life; when I saw her, I felt a rude awakening." She sniffed, and wiped her face with her free hand. "I did that girl a great injustice," she continued, her voice quivering. "Her mother is probably dead, and she believes that she'll come back to life because of a terrible lie I told her."

Argos looked at her in silence.

"You feel responsible," he stated, rather than asked. She stiffened, but did not deny it.

"I am sorry for wasting your time," she said, her voice thick with a lump in her throat. She turned to leave once more.

"... If her mother is dead, there's a chance she was taken to the local orphanage," Argos offered. "It's not a very good chance, but it's a start."

The woman froze in place.

"... The possibility exists...? Are you sure?" she said, turning to face him again.

"Like I said, it's not a very good chance."

"Even if there's a one-percent chance," she said desperately. "That's good enough for me! Can you take me there?"

_Why not,_ he thought. _I've got an hour to kill._

"Follow me." The assassin turned on his heel and began walking east of the town square. The woman rushed to walk alongside him.

"Thank you," she said. "I'm Charlotte, by the way."

"... Richard," Argos replied. He noticed as they walked that she continued to turn her head this way and there in search for the girl she was looking for, but Charlotte once never removed her hood.

They arrived at the orphanage twenty minutes later, located in the slums of Morroc. It was a pitiful looking, dusty brown building, with worn down wooden shutters, and a couple of rats scavenging in the garbage outside.

"You're very naive," Argos deadpanned. "I could have lead you to an alley and killed you for your belongings."

"But you didn't," Charlotte said, staring at the orphanage. "And how can I explain this... when I looked at you, I felt a sense of familiarity, as if I could trust you."

Argos didn't say anything to this.

"And besides," she continued. "I could have had male companions following us, ready to attack you the moment you lead me into an alley, for your possessions."

The assassin stiffened. She was right, he had to admit. He had let his guard down. The two of them entered the orphanage.

They inside of the building was just as pathetic as the outside. It had decaying floorboards with holes and splinters sticking out at odd angles. A slight, nauseating smell of something rotting hung in the hair, and on the far wall was an old bloodstain very close to the ground. There were a few children, filthy and poorly dressed, staring at the two visitors. A sickly looking woman with frayed, wispy hair sitting behind an ancient table that probably served as a reception desk, stood up when they entered. Argos shuddered, and wrapped his arms around himself.

"Is something wrong?" Charlotte asked.

"... I haven't been here in a while."

It took a while for Charlotte to understand what that meant. She let out a small gasp.

"I'm terribly sorry, I shouldn't have asked."

He jerked his head to the woman. "Go talk to her." She nodded.

"Excuse me, ma'am," Charlotte said. "I'm looking for an auburn haired girl named Rachel. She's about six years old. She may have been brought in here yesterday."

The woman didn't say anything but raised a bony hand and pointed to a dark hallway near the back of the room.

"Thank you." Charlotte entered the hallway; Argos following closely behind, looking more and more sick with each step that he took.

The hallway was lined with rooms. They checked each one, typically finding a couple of resigned, depressed children slumped on the floor or half-heartedly playing a few simple games.

Eventually, Charlotte found her alone in a room at the end of the hall. Rachel was sitting on the floor, hugging her knees in the corner of the room she was staying at. She didn't even have much of a reaction when they entered the room.

"Rachel?" she asked, as if hardly daring to hope. The child lifted her head and looked at the woman, with dull, defeated eyes. Her cheeks were streaked; it looked like she had been crying and long run out of tears. "Rachel!? It really is you!"

Charlotte rushed to the girl and knelt by her side.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, eyes tearing up. "I'm sorry that I had to find you here. Don't worry, everything is going to be okay." She hoisted Rachel up into a standing position, surprised at how light and unresisting she was.

"I did what you told me to," Rachel said, voice quivering. "I brought the locket to Momma and I waited."

Charlotte's eyes widened; her mouth hung open a little. She retreated backwards slightly, as though she were afraid of what Rachel might say next.

"I waited," Rachel repeated. "But nothing happened so I opened the locket."

"... Rachel... I'm so sorry..."

"It's my fault isn't it?" Rachel said, her voice rising, panicked. "It's because I opened the locket too late, isn't it? Miss?"

Charlotte was at loss for words.

"M-Momma's not coming back because I couldn't read the s-s-spell!" Rachel sobbed, her face contorting with tears. "And those m-men came and took momma away and I couldn't do a-a-a-anythi – " She got up and buried her face in Charlotte's stomach, wailing, unable to form coherent words anymore.

The young woman became crying in earnest now, tears streaming down her face. She let go of her hood and wrapped her arms around the child.

"Oh Rachel," she sobbed. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry," she repeated over and over again. Her hood fell off of her head, exposing her face for the first time. The shoulders of her cloak slipped off of her frame slightly, partially revealing a witch uniform underneath

Argos stumbled backwards as though bitten. He stared incredulously at the blonde witch, transfixed. Charlotte didn't notice this. He suddenly realized why he had a persistent nagging feeling at the back of his head that something was wrong.

"It's going to be okay, Rachel," Charlotte managed between sobs, brushing Rachel's hair. "I-I'll take care of you. I'll t-teach you to read, and buy you clothes to wear, and I'll feed you so you won't have t-to be hungry anymore." Rachel continued to cry.

Eventually, Rachel's sobs died down and she hung limply from Charlotte's arms, asleep. Charlotte sniffed and wiped her eyes with the hem of her cloak.

"I'm sorry you had to see that," she said to Argos. The assassin was unable to reply. He nodded slowly.

"How would I go about the process of adopting this child?" she asked.

"...Tell the woman at the desk," Argos said. He looked away.

"There's no paperwork I have to sign?"

"Even if a child went missing, no one would bother looking for them," Argos explained. "It's one less mouth they have to feed."

"That's horrible!" she exclaimed, shocked.

"It's the truth," he replied. "No one cares about these children. Their parents are dead, or abandoned them. If they're lucky, they might live to the age of thirteen, and then they can start training for the army. That way, they can get fed."

"Is... is that what you did?"

"...Something like that."

They walked back out of the room, Argos taking the lead, anxious to leave the building.

"I'm going to be taking care of this child," Charlotte said firmly to the frail woman. She only nodded in response, looking slightly relieved.

As they left the orphanage, the young woman turned around and looked back at the sad building. Her mouth was set in a determined line, as if her mind were made up.

"Now that I think about it, I can't leave all those children in there alone," she said. "It bothers me to know about these kinds of orphanages."

"You can't adopt all of those children," Argos stated.

"I know that! ... It's just horrible how those children are surviving there in abject living conditions. Tomorrow, I'm going to start working here, cleaning and cooking, helping wherever I can. More than anything, these children need love."

The assassin fell silent. He turned to leave.

"Richard!" she called. "I haven't thanked you properly yet."

"You're very foolish," Argos said, looking backwards. "People like you won't survi –" He froze as their eyes locked for the first time.

Red eyes met red eyes. Both of them were unable to look away for a full minute.

"... Why," Argos demanded finally, retreating a few steps backwards, "do you have the same eyes as me!? WHY!?"

"I-I don't know!" the young woman stammered. "I've never met anyone else with red eyes before!"

"WHO ARE YOU REALLY?! ANSWER ME!"

The priestess's mouth hung agape, but no sound came out. Argos grit his teeth together, and fled.

* * *

_Residence in Morroc_

Spider staggered back down the alleyway, tipsy from his fifth drink at the _Muka House_. In his hand, he held a scrap of paper with a house address on it.

"Heh," he muttered. "Didn't even tell her my name. So uncool."

The assassin cross reached into his pocket and pulled out his house key that the waitress returned. He fumbled with the lock, then pushed the door open.

Argos was waiting for him, his arms crossed and foot tapping impatiently.

"Tell me who Daphne Trenton is," he demanded. "I need to know."

"I thought you didn't care," Spider grunted, his speech slightly slurred.

"DAMMIT! I NEED TO KNOW!" Argos snatched his his icicle katars and dashed forward in an overhead scissoring X motion to attack the assassin cross. Part of him was screaming at him not to attack Spider, knowing that his senior partner could kill him with the blink of an eye. The rest of him was demanding an answer.

Spider leaned backwards out of the range of the X-shaped attack, a hair's breath away from the tip of the blue katars. Just as Argos finished his swing with his arms pointing down, crossed at the elbows, the assassin cross reached out and grabbed his wrists, holding him in place. The teenager struggled to escape out of the lock, but he couldn't break free.

"WHY DOES SHE HAVE THE SAME EYES AS I DO?!" Argos roared.

* * *


	4. Scapegoat and Wolf

* * *

_Morroc Residence_

"WHY DOES SHE HAVE THE SAME EYES AS I DO?!" Argos roared. He struggled against Spider's grip, but couldn't break free. The assassin cross seemed to sober out of his tipsy daze.

"So you've met her, then? You've met Daphne?"

"Who is she?" Argos demanded.

"First and foremost, I need to confirm her status," Spider said in a serious tone, sobering up. "Is she alive?"

The assassin seemed to calm down enough to stop struggling. Sensing this, Spider released his grip on Argos's wrists.

"She was alive last time I saw her," he said, not yet re-clipping his icicle katars to his belt.

"How long ago was this?" Spider asked.

"About an hour ago."

"So not too much time has passed since then," Spider murmured. "Good. We still have enough time to save her."

"Weren't we supposed to assassinate her?" Argos growled. "And you still haven't answered my question."

"Where should I begin?" the assassin cross asked. "She's the daughter of King Tristan XIII."

Argos stood frozen in shock. "We were about to assassinate the princess!?" he exclaimed.

"The late queen Abigail died giving birth to her," Spider explained. "Her existence was kept from the public for security reasons."

"This is news to me!"

"Technically, she didn't exist," Spider said. "But remember this: she was your hit. My mission, the orders that you heard from the guild leader's mouth, was to make sure you carried it out."

"And then what would have happened?"

"You're not supposed to know this, but my real mission was to kill you and arrange the scene by cutting tail," the assassin cross said.

Argos stumbled backwards into the far wall, not believing what he was hearing. The katars he were holding fell to the floor with a clatter.

"You can imagine what would have happened," Spider continued. "There would have been an uproar in the palace. Investigators would begin digging for information on who hired the assassin that did it. They would have dug into your past too, after seeing your corpse, and found out your story. Well, whatever they would find, your body would have served as a scapegoat, and war would have been averted, according to the guild leader."

Argos slumped to the ground, eyes fixed in one spot.

"There's still one thing I'm not clear with," Spider went on. "The guild leader said this was something only you could do. How could your corpse have prevented war from breaking out?"

The assassin remained silent for a moment. "Are you going to kill me?" he asked finally, in a small voice.

"That depends," Spider said in an equally small, but deadly voice. "Are you going to kill Daphne?"

Argos shook his head side to side. "My mother died when I was very young," he said. "But I was told later that she was a concubine for the king."

Spider's eyes widened. "So that would make Daphne your half-sister!"

"Yes, although I never knew she existed."

"I should have guessed it when I met you," Spider mused out loud. "You both had the king's unique red eyes. Now I see why only you could do it. If your body were found at the scene of the crime and made to look as though you tried to kill the princess, the investigators would have concluded that it was for personal gain. You would have been next in line for the crown, even if you were a bastard child."

"They would have ruled it an independent action, not as a hired hit," Argos nodded. "Then whoever requested the hit would be free from blame."

"Which brings us back to my question," Spider said. "Are you going to kill Daphne or break the assassin code?"

Argos grit his teeth; it should have been clear to him. Had he been asked this just a moment before, he would have chosen to kill Daphne without a second thought. Revenge was the first thing that was driving his life. There was no way he could have opted to live peacefully when _that_ man was still alive, the one who had taken everything away from him. He swore he would become an assassin cross to be in the position to kill him...

But now he discovered that he had family; never mind that pompous fat lout sitting on the Prontera throne, the arrogant, self-righteous cur who threw out his mother when she was still pregnant with him. He had a half-sister who miraculously wasn't like that bastard of a man who he refused to call father. Just when it seemed that he was on his way to attaining the tools for revenge, fate had smiled upon him on a whim. Two paths lay in front of him in his mind's eye.

"I... I want to find out for myself," he said finally, sincerely. "Who Daphne is. What kind of person she is. I... I think I can forget about revenge."

Spider smiled.

"Heh," he chuckled. "It looks like there's hope for you yet, sport." He stepped forward and offered Argos his hand. His junior partner took it and stood.

"Do you happen to know who requested the hit?"

The image of a letter flashed in Spider's head.

"I've got a pretty good idea," he said darkly. "Nothing for certain; I'll need to send a letter to a certain contact of mine to confirm it."

"So what will we do now?" Argos asked. Spider looked at him; his face became grim.

"You and I," he said. "Are going to go through hell and back."

* * *

_South of Prontera_

A small squadron of peco-mounted knights and crusaders galloped southwest into the dying late-afternoon horizon. Each of these men weren't clad in armor; donning the heavy metallic plates would be equivalent to suicide while traveling through the desert, even in setting sun. The residual heat would not fade until hours after darkness blanketed the sands. Two of the riders in particular were side by side, chatting.

"Sir Grant, back during the training session earlier today," Reinbach said. "You asked me if I had any goals, to which I replied none."

"I did indeed," Grant said.

"Is having a goal really that important?"

"Well, I suppose what you're doing right now can be called a goal," Grant said. "Becoming a stronger knight and serving the king. In a sense, that is a very noble goal."

"Do you feel it is lacking something, sir?"

"Yes, I do. Recall your studies and education. I'm sure you, along with everyone else, were trying their best to excel."

"I didn't fare as well in my studies as well as I'm doing as a knight, I'm afraid," Reinbach said, somewhat abashed, rubbing the back of his streaked blonde head.

"Neither did I, which is why I'm engaged to Tabby," Grant said, laughing. "Sometimes I feel one of the reasons why she's my fiancée is because she compensates for my head."

The two of them chuckled quietly. Gradually, the settings around them changed from grassy fields to warm sands.

"It's expected of you to try to excel in your studies," Grant went on. "But in school, if that was all that you worried about, then it probably would have been a very lonely experience indeed."

"Of course," Reinbach said. "I was more interested in afternoon exercises, trying to maintain my status as the school's most athletic. But everyone I competed against, I considered a friend; if not, an acquaintance."

"Do you still keep in contact with some of those friends?" Grant asked. Reinbach shook his head.

"Most of them are in different apprenticeships, like the archer's guild or the acolytes. The few that trained with me in the swordsman apprenticeship aren't yet knights or crusaders."

"That's somewhat discouraging to hear..."

"Well... there's one person..." Reinbach said slowly, hesitant. "... She followed me around all the time in school and she sends letters from time to time."

"Ohhhh?" Grant said, drawing out the syllable in a manner not unlike his fiancée. "So this is why you declined Tabby's offer today?"

Reinbach coughed and looked slightly away to hide the flush on his cheeks. "Please don't make fun of me, sir," he muttered.

Granted began laughing, though not in a condescending way.

"To tell you the truth, you remind me of me when I was your age," the paladin said. "I used to be focused purely on training and thought I had no time for women."

"Then if it's not too much of a personal question, sir, how did you meet your fiancée?"

Grant began laughing even harder.

"I first met her in school," he managed between laughs. "She followed me around all the time."

Reinbach was suddenly seized by a coughing fit, to which Grant and the riders close enough to hear burst out laughing.

"You really are making fun of me, aren't you sir?" the knight asked, his face red.

"No, I'm being quite honest here," Grant said as the laughter died down. "Which makes it all the more funnier!"

It took a while for the renewed laughter to settle down again. Reinbach readjusted his traveling cloak, pulling the hood over his eyes.

"But honestly, school was some of the more nostalgic times in my life," Grant reminisced out loud, a faraway look in his eyes. "I don't know if this girl of yours was the same, but Tabby followed me around because I was somewhat of a delinquent when it came to studies. She fancied herself as some sort of class monitor, saying that I was ruining the reputation of the school's name."

"I never would have guessed that the two of you would have started out with that kind of relationship."

"Neither did I," said Grant. "During my days as a swollen-headed crusader, I thought I could beat anyone; I was arrogant and foolish. Then I met a wizard who trounced me so badly, that I was in shock for an entire day."

"Did you ever beat him?" Reinbach asked curiously.

"Haha, no," Grant said sheepishly. "After I lost, I decided to swallow my pride and ask the only other magic user I knew, Tabby, for training. I suppose that's where our relationship began."

"To hear the personal story behind the Chevalier Paladin Grant Graves," another of the knights said. "Now this is something you don't hear everyday!"

"There you go again, Ozworth, making me out to be some sort of hero. Before I knew it," Grant continued, "I realized that I was much more prepared for dealing against magic types, but by then, the wizard had disappeared. I didn't mind it that much, considering I found a valuable partner in Tabby."

Ozworth, a knight with cedar brown hair who had been promoted next to Reinbach, flashed his fellow knight-in-arms a grin.

"Hear that, Kristoph?" he joked. "A valuable partner, he found. Give or take a few months, that girl of yours will be at your doorstep!"

Reinbach had no time to respond; at that moment, a slew of arrows shrieked past them. A couple of arrows struck home, and one knight fell down, dead, an arrow sticking out of his chest.

"TO ARMS!" Grant bellowed, grabbing his shield and drawing a gleaming red Solar Sword from his side. Not wasting any time, the riders drew their weapons and raised their guards.

"Rear guard! Buy time for the rest to escape!" the paladin shouted. "Reinbach, Ozworth! The arrows came from behind, we're going to stay and defend! The rest of you! Take the fallen and injured to Morroc!"

The two knights nodded, eyes set and determined. Reinbach drew the Zephyrus given to him earlier that day, while Ozworth unsheathed a Battle Hook, a spear with a wickedly curving point.

"Those with shields, in the front!" Grant shouted. No sooner had the front line formed, a second volley of arrows rained down upon them. This time, they shattered against the shields.

"Chaaaarge!" the paladin roared, leading the charge up a small dune. The muffled sound of peco claws on sand filled the air. A third and fourth volley rained down upon them, felling a peco. The crusader mounting it collapsed into the sand.

About fifteen rogues had been firing at the knights from behind the dune. Just as the riders had reached the apex of the hill, they dove and burrowed deep into the sand.

"COWARDS!" Grant bellowed. "COME OUT AND FIGHT!" None of the rogues resurfaced. In the darkening desert sky, a faint shadow from behind them leaped from the top of a palm tree overhead.

"WITH PLEASURE!" a rough, wild voice half-yelled, half-growled. The riders spun wildly. In the dying vestiges of the sun, a silhouette of a man somersaulted and swung a massive slab of a broadsword in an overhand swing.

A huge, rusty Atroce Blade smashed into Reinbach's Zephyrus with a bone-jarring clang; the peco he was riding buckled from the sudden combined weight of the assaulter and his attack. The young knight felt his left shoulder give way, but instead of falling to the sand, he shifted his spear to a slant and pushed the attack to the side. Not wasting any time, Grant rushed forward on his peco to engage their attacker. With a backhand swing of his Solar Sword, the paladin attempted to debilitate their attacker; the man, knowing the weight of the Atroce Blade would never allow him to block in time, instead maneuvered around his broadsword and used the blade's thickness as a shield.

It was hard to gauge the man's age. He had coppery skin, black dreadlocks that flowed behind him like a lion's mane, and a few days' worth of stubble on his lower jaw. A long horizontal scar slashed across the bridge of his nose, and he wore no shirt, instead displaying his powerfully built torso under a thick bandolier meant for holding his Atroce Blade.

"Alexei Volkov," Grant growled. "The Prontera Chivalry will be glad when I bring your head to them."

Volkov began laughing in his rough voice.

"Grant Graves! My bounty will double after I kill you!"

Ozworth attempted to skewer Volkov from behind with his Battle Hook, but sensing this, the man ducked under the attack into a crouching position with a surprising degree of agility. The knight's weapon passed harmlessly over his head. Grabbing the hilt of his sword, Volkov extended his quadriceps with a powerful snap, slamming Ozworth's peco from behind with his well-defined back muscles and throwing the bird off its feet. Ozworth fell off his mount with a grunt and tumbled down the sand dune. At the same time, this allowed Volkov to put some distance between Grant and himself.

_Having a mounted advantage is meaningless without a longer weapon, _Grant thought. He jumped off the peco and rushed forward to re-engage Volkov, but Reinbach beat him there. With a fierce cry, he thrust his Zephyrus spear with his remaining good arm towards Volkov's throat, but the man simply side-stepped the attack and batted the offending weapon away.

"Heh! You want to play with the big boys, eh?!" Volkov, firmly grasping the hilt of his broadsword, used the momentum of his own body to initiate a huge sweeping arcing attack that Reinbach barely had any time to avoid. Instead of stopping, Volkov stepped past the knight and continued to spin around for a second arc aimed for his back.

A huge resonating clang rung out in the desert; Grant's shield had stopped Volkov from cleaving Reinbach in two.

"Reinbach! Go with the rest of the knights and try to find those rogues! Leave this one to me!"

But Volkov would not let Reinbach do as Grant said. He dropped his broadsword point down into the sand and grabbed Reinbach by the scruff of his cloak, shoving him roughly into Grant's shield, throwing the two of them off balance.

"So you think you're a knight? I'll finish you first!" He grasped the hilt of his broadsword, but Grant recovered quickly and attempted to slice off the man's head. Volkov managed to deflect the glancing blow with the steel wrist bracers he was wearing.

"Tch. No point in using that heavy slab in close combat." He ripped the Zephyrus out of Reinbach's hands; the knight cried out in pain as his injured shoulder was relocated, and fell to the ground.

"You can thank me for fixing your shoulder with this spear!" he yelled. He raised the spear and attempted to stab Reinbach, but Grant rushed forward again and bashed into him with his shield; Volkov stumbled backwards several steps, nearly falling over into the sand. He hurled the spear towards Grant, but the paladin quickly raised his shield and blocked the projectile, bouncing it back.

A reverberating horn's cry bellowed out in the desert sands. Volkov snarled. He rushed forward to Grant, snatching up the Zephyrus as he sprinted. Too surprised to react on time, the paladin attempted to slash downwards in an overhead swing, but the man simply danced out of the way and ran past him. He grabbed his Atroce Blade by the hilt and jumped off the top of the dune, sliding down on his broadsword as he went.

"Time to leave! Next time I'll have your heads!" He ran surprisingly quickly on the uneven footing of the sand, just as Ozworth managed to reach the top of the dune.

"Damn!" he cursed, watching Volkov disappear.

"Are you two okay?" Grant asked pulling Reinbach up by his uninjured arm. Both of them nodded. Just then, the rest of the rear guard came back; some of them were slightly injured; others had a few missing equipment.

"It looks like none of the rear guard are seriously hurt," Grant said. "They probably only attacked us for armor and weapons. What was the name of the knight who was shot?"

"Perceus Green, Sir Graves. He was just promoted as a knight this morning," one of the crusaders said quietly. They looked down sadly for a moment in silent prayer.

"Who was that?" Reinbach winced as he rubbed his shoulder, referring to their attacker.

"Alexei Volkov, a fallen lord knight," Grant said. "He joined the chivalry solely because he felt that knights were the strongest; as soon as he acquired the skills and promotion, he left and formed a vagabond band of mercenaries in this desert. He's a warmonger with a bounty of five million zeny."

"That was a lord knight?" Ozworth asked, disbelievingly. "With that messed up way of fighting?"

"Former lord knight," Grant muttered darkly. "He's been around rogues and stalkers so long, I wouldn't be surprised if he picked up some of their dirty tricks. His defection is the dark stain in the Prontera Chivalry's history; they've been wanting his head for a long while now."

Reinbach gazed into the darkening sands where Volkov retreated.

"Because of him, Perceus is dead…" he said. His brows were furrowed with frustration and anger.

"We've already lost a lot of progress," Grant said briskly. "We'll need to travel quickly to catch up with the group that's gone ahead." They nodded. "Someone will have to share a peco with Weiss; his mount was killed in that charge." A knight volunteered.

"Good. We ride."

"Sir Graves!" Reinbach said. "I'm very sorry for losing that spear…"

Grant rapped him lightly on the forehead.

"Weapons are replaceable; what's important is that you're alive. Do you have another weapon to use for now?"

"Yes sir, I do."

"Well that'll do for now. In the meantime, we need to head towards Morroc. We'll do most of our traveling during the nighttime, when the sun is down."

Reinbach saluted, and mounted his peco, mouth set in a thin line. Things were looking grim for them already, and the journey to Morroc had only just begun.

* * *

_The next morning, Desert town Morroc_

Daphne Trenton was quite overwhelmed.

She told herself that she was mentally prepared to be Rachel's caretaker, but she hadn't expected the girl to latch onto her so tightly on an emotional level. The child refused to be separated from her, always holding on to her hand, always demanding attention. In a sense, Daphne had expected something like this, but not to this degree.

"Momma!" Rachel piped. "How do you read this word?" She pointed to a word on a page of the children's book in her lap she was reading.

"That's 'cat', Rachel," Daphne said slowly and patiently. "You've seen them before, right?"

"C… cat," the child mouthed, staring at the page.

They were sitting on a bench at the town center; in fact, it was the same bench where Daphne had met Richard the previous day and given him a fake alias. The sun was relatively hidden by the clouds that day, unable to glare down at the bustling desert town. Daphne felt that teaching Rachel outside of the house wouldn't be a bad idea either.

Fortunately, it hadn't taken too long to teach Rachel the basics. She had absorbed the alphabet like a sponge, starving for information and full of questions. Both of them were very proud when she learned the ABC's within one afternoon.

She told herself that it was the only reason why the two of them were outside in the town center. No, there wasn't any other reason, none at all.

Well… maybe there was.

Her encounter with Richard had both completely terrified and intrigued her. When she told him that she didn't know anyone else with red eyes, that was only partially true. Her father, the king, had red irises, from what she remembered of her few and brief moments together with him.

Was he perhaps, a relative of hers?

She shook her head, dismissing the thought. That was irrelevant. Right now, she had to focus on raising Rachel. She felt a tug on her cloak, shaking her out of her thoughts.

"Momma! How about this one?" Rachel asked, pointing to anther word. "Wo… wold?"

" 'Would', dear," Daphne said. Rachel frowned, then continued to read out loud slowly.

Gradually, her mind began to wander around; thoughts about school, memories of promises and friendships. She wondered if her friends were doing fine; she hadn't been in contact with any of them since she left Geffen.

_Well, it has been only a couple of days,_ she thought. _Maybe I can send a letter tomorrow._

"Rachel dear," she said. "I've been thinking about going back to the orphanage."

"…Why?" The child didn't look very excited about the prospect.

"To help. You don't have to come if you – "

"NO!" Rachel shouted. "DON'T LEAVE ME!"

Daphne paused, looking into the girl's eyes. There was a hint of something in them… was it anger? Fear?

"I won't leave you," Daphne assured. "But there are children like you there, who need help. I want to help them."

Rachel angrily returned to her book, sulking.

* * *

_East of Morroc_

A ginger haired young boy, wearing a faded red hat backed up slowly against a red rock wall; his foot brushed against a bulky cloth bag on the ground next to him. A small pack of five wolves growled at him, advancing slowly. In an attempt to stave off the wolves, the young thief was wielding a dagger and a small tree branch at them.

"Ehehe…" the boy chuckled nervously. "You don't suppose… you want to talk about this first?"

One of the wolves barked fiercely. A thread of saliva dripped from its jaws.

"Hey! Look, a stick!" the boy said, offering the branch. "You like sticks, don't you?" He waved it enticingly in front of the closest wolf, then tossed it behind them. The wolves only edged closer.

"Oh come on!" the boy pleaded. "I've never even had a girlfriend yet! Besides, I taste really, really bad. You wouldn't want me as wolf food!"

The closest wolf lunged and snapped at the boy's arm, snaring it in its jaws. Before the rest could attack, several javelins rained down upon them, killing the wolves instantly.

"NOOOOOO!" the boy yelled. "I'MGONNADIE, HEEELLP – Oh."

Several peco-mounted riders sprinted forward, slowing to a trot as they neared the boy.

"Are you hurt?" a knight asked. It was Reinbach. He pulled out the javelin from the wolf that had attacked the young boy.

"WHEW! I'm saved," the thief sighed, wiping his forehead. He didn't notice the blood that he smeared onto his face. "Thanks, mister! I'm Aloys."

"It looks like he hasn't realized it," Grant said, snorting. He tossed Aloys a section of cloth, where it landed on his hat.

The boy looked at the paladin, confused.

"Hasn't realized what? …ACK! I'm bleeding!"

"You wouldn't have happened to see another group of riders head to Morroc, would you?" Ozworth asked.

"Oh yeah, those guys," Aloys said, wrapping his bleeding arm with the cloth. "Nice folks, they were. They saved me from wolves."

The riders looked at each other incredulously.

"How do you even survive out here?" Grant asked. Aloys laughed.

"You're naïve! A rogue never reveals his secrets!" He stood up, with his fists at his waist, elbows bent. The shoddily wrapped bandage fell off his arm.

"But… you're a thief…" Grant pointed out.

"So? You're a paladin…" Aloys said. He paused, noticing Grant's unique armor. "OH WOW, A REAL PALADIN!"

"Well," Grant said, taking the reins to his peco. "We'll be off to Morroc. You should take care of that bandage."

"Wait!" Aloys said. "Uh! Sir paladin! I'm… actually trying to go to Morroc. I'm lost, you see."

Reinbach pointed westwards; in the distance, the shimmering image of the desert town sat in the horizon. The young boy peered to the west.

"Oh whaddya know? It's right there!"

"Well, even if it's not too far, you probably shouldn't be moving around too much because of that arm," Ozworth said.

"I'll carry him," Reinbach offered. Grant nodded. The knight extended his arm to the young boy, and hoisted him up.

"That's settled, then. To Morroc!"

"Hey, thanks!" Aloys said. "Uh, my stuff! It's on the ground right there."

Reinbach commanded the peco to kneel and lifted up the cloth bag. "You carry a lot of possessions for a traveler," he said with a grunt. The riders plus one thief began trotting westwards to Morroc.

"I'm not traveling!" Aloys corrected. "I'm raiding other travelers!"

The knight's eyes darkened. "Don't follow such a path," he said, gritting his teeth.

* * *


	5. Falsely Induced Death

* * *

_Morroc Orphanage_

Daphne scrubbed and scrubbed, but despite all her efforts, it didn't get any lighter; that stubborn old bloodstain refused to come off the wall.

"I don't think it can be helped, Mrs. Reeves," she said, panting. "It's not coming off at all."

The old woman gave a feeble grunting sound and tottered forward with a brush and a bucket of water. Her veiny hands, splotched with liver spots, trembled as she held the bucket; a little bit of water fell on the floor.

"No, I don't think that's going to help. We might just have to cover it." Daphne sighed, then stood up from next to the offending bloodstain. She was wearing a simple brown cotton dress and a cleaning apron; her witch's uniform and cloak were at home.

"I suppose we should do something about the floorboards next."

In the corner, Rachel was reading her children's book out loud. A couple of orphans looked at her from afar curiously, but none of them seemed to have the will to muster up the energy to approach her.

Even though the bloodstain refused to come off, Daphne had to admit that the orphanage looked much better than before. After dusting the meager furnishings and throwing out hopelessly unsalvageable items, the rooms looked much more hospitable, albeit empty. The main problem was the floorboards. They were splintered and cracked; many of the children had cuts and scars on the soles of their feet from less-than-careful steps. The young witch highly doubted that a simple rug would be able to solve the problem.

Hopefully, she would be able to find a nearby carpenter and perhaps borrow tools for a couple of days. A sander would be able to scrape away splinters somewhat; it would only be an interim solution until she managed to obtain wooden planks to replace the floorboards.

She hadn't brought a lot of zeny with her when she left her home in Geffen. Most of the aid aimed towards improving the orphanage would have to be donated. And unfortunately, nothing could be done about the floorboards for now. Perhaps she could have the orphans do some sort of activity to brighten their moods in the meantime…

A few minutes later, she had managed to gather the orphans in the main room; it made for a surprising change; she had never seen so many people in one room of the orphanage at once.

"Children! How would you like to visit the town center today?" she called, hoping to elicit a response.

A few orphans stirred. Most of them just looked as downcast and depressed as ever. None of them said a word.

"It would be good for you," Daphne continued. "A nice walk to the town center, to get some fresh air…"

"The town center!" Rachel piped, pumping her fists into the air.

Mrs. Reeves shuffled her feet and returned to her usual seat at her desk; a couple of orphans left and returned to their own rooms.

"None of you?" Daphne asked. She was at loss for words.

Gradually, the children returned to their usual spots; some of them in their rooms, others, half-heartedly playing simple hand games or wandering aimlessly in the hallway. Before long, the main room of the orphanage was back to the way it was before everyone had gathered: empty, listless and lifeless.

Daphne had never felt more discouraged in her life. Never more had she wanted to drop to the floor in tears and simply wish for someone to whisk her away, or shake her awake from that awful nightmare. She didn't know what was worse; the fact that she couldn't do anything for these children or that they didn't have enough energy left to even hope for happiness. A powerful headache began pounding on her temples and her eyes stung with tears, but she willed herself not to cry. With a heavy sigh she slid to the floor next to the bloodstain and hugged her knees to her chest.

She felt someone sit next to her. Without a word, Rachel had knelt next to her and wrapped her arms around her in a hug. The two of them sat together, taking comfort in each other's company.

* * *

_Outside the desert town Morroc_

"Don't follow such a path," Reinbach said grimly. "There's no honor to be found from raiding and stealing."

Aloys looked up at the knight, his ginger hair fluttering slightly. He opened his mouth as if he were about to say something, but decided against it and closed it. Instead, he clammed up and faced towards Morroc, sulking.

"Reinbach," Grant called. "There's something I need to tell you."

"Sir Graves!" a crusader called. "At the entrance!"

Grant squinted his eyes and peered towards the entrance of Morroc. He could barely make out the shapes of several men.

"I'll tell it to you afterwards," he said, returning his gaze to Reinbach. "It looks like our friend Volkov and his gang decided to throw us a little reception."

"Volkov?!" Aloys yelped. Reinbach looked at the thief, bemused.

"What is it?" Grant asked.

"H-he… he's gonna kill me!"

"Volkov? Why would he want to do that?"

"I stole from him!" The young thief's face was drained of color, making his ginger hair stand out even more. He pulled his faded red cap over his eyes.

"WHAT?"

"I… I didn't know it was him, honest!" Aloys stammered. "I found out who he was after all the rogues started chasing me!"

Reinbach ripped open Aloys's cloth bag. There, among various knights' equipment, was his gleaming green Zephyrus spear.

"My spear!" he shouted. "Aloys stole our equipment back from Volkov!"

There was a murmur of surprise and disbelief among the riders.

"Well done, lad," Grant said. "You won't complain if we use this equipment to fight Volkov?"

The young thief shook his head wildly.

"Have it back for all I care! If he sees me with that, he'll eat me alive!"

"Quickly, now" the paladin ushered. "Before they have a chance to fire their arrows." The knights and crusaders gathered around the cloth bag, reclaiming their stolen equipment. Reinbach hefted up his Zephyrus once more, glad to feel the increasingly familiar weight in his hands.

"Crusaders in front!" Grant called, steering his peco to the front of the riders. He had his shield and Solar Sword in hand. A rapidly approaching cloud of arrows began their descent upon the riders. Reinbach felt the young thief in front of him tremble violently, then snorted as Aloys grabbed his newly emptied cloth bag and yank it down over his head.

"Charge!" Muffled claw-beats of peco-claws hitting sand filled the air, quickly replaced by the sound of arrows whizzing past and crashing against metal. Reinbach winced as an arrow glanced off the arm of his chain-mail armor – surely there would be a heavy bruise – but he continued to usher his peco faster, towards the growing figures of the bow-rogues and Volkov. He could distinguish his features now, including that scar across his nose. A strange feeling of rage bubbled up from inside Reinbach.

"NOBODY STEALS FROM ME AND LIVES!" Volkov roared when the riders drew close. He hefted his Atroce Blade from his back and barreled forward, swinging with inhumane strength and speed.

"HE'S 'ZERKED!" Grant bellowed. "CAREFUL!" The paladin rushed forward and charged his peco into Volkov. The three of them tumbled and fell in the sand; Volkov's attacks were temporarily halted.

Reinbach recalled from his training about a state of body and mind that some lord knights were able to enter, berserk. It took years to master properly; anyone who forcibly tried to enter the berserk state would notice an increase in violent tendencies and mental trauma. But the end result was still the same: any berserker, forcibly induced or properly mastered, would experience an explosive increase in strength, speed and stamina and would not stop attacking until their muscles refused to perform any longer.

They were close enough to attack the rogues. With a shout, Reinbach raised his spear over his head and swung down at the nearest rogue; the rogue attempted to dive into the sand but the zigzag spear point of the Zephyrus reached him first, knocking him out. The rest of the rogues scattered and burrowed into the sand as the other knights tried to take them down.

"Keep your eyes peeled!" Ozworth yelled. "They can resurface at any moment!" No sooner had the knight said this, the rogues burst out of the sand, brandishing daggers. Instantly, Reinbach raised his stance, ready to attack or defend.

Grant and Volkov were engaged in a furious and intense battle; the former lord knight swung his Atroce Blade so quickly that the machine-gun staccato of his broadsword striking the paladin's shield peppered the air. Grant was on the defensive; raising his shield was all he could do to guard against the rapid attacks. Sparks flew, dust smoked. His current shield wouldn't be able to withstand the onslaught much longer; much less his aching shoulder muscles. The paladin tightened his guard and slowly pressed forward, struggling to push Volkov back.

_If I can destroy his footing,_ he thought, _that would give me some extra time._ When Grant had pushed Volkov close enough to the unconscious form of the rogue that Reinbach felled, he focused his remaining strength into his muscles and forced Volkov backwards in one concentrated push. The berzerked lord knight stumbled backwards, crashing into Reinbach. The knight spun around.

The young knight took this opportunity to skewer Volkov to debilitate him. With a fierce cry, he thrust forward and buried the spear point into Volkov's right shoulder; it only served to enrage the former lord knight further. Snarling, Volkov swung wildly with his remaining uninjured arm. Surprisingly, the lack of two functional arms did nothing to deaden his attacks.

Reinbach felt an odd sensation across the left side of his face. Something like hot liquid trickled down his cheek. Aloys was shaking uncontrollably now; sensing that Volkov was nearby.

"Reinbach! Step back!" Grant yelled. "He's out of your league!"

But something inside Reinbach wouldn't listen to reason. Whether it was the rage of losing fellow knight in arms Perceus, the pain from having his shoulder dislocated, the humiliation of having his spear stolen from him, or a combination of all of those, he wasn't sure. His vision was starting to turn red, an uncontrollable snarl growing in the back of his throat –

The arrival of a squadron of Pronteran knights and crusaders shook him to his senses; it was the rest of the riders who had gone ahead to Morroc.

"They have reinforcements, boss!" one of the rogues yelled. "We should -" A spear point suddenly erupted out of his chest; the rogue died before he could finish his sentence.

Volkov seemed to awaken from his trance-like furor. He quickly glanced around, surveying his remaining forces and the situation.

"WE'RE RUNNING!" he roared. The surviving rogues immediately dove and burrowed into the sand and out of sight. With a quick turn and a whirl of dreadlocks, Volkov sprinted on and disappeared over the closest sand dune with amazing speed, as though his footing wasn't even bothered by the sand. Reinbach made to follow him, but Weiss, a crusader, placed an armored gauntlet on his shoulder.

"You're injured," he said, shaking his head.

"Kristoph," Ozworth called, removing his Battle Hook from the dead rogue's back. "Are you okay? Your face…"

Reinbach turned to face him. He felt queasy.

"What? What about my face, Olin?" the knight reached up to touch his face with his gloved fingers and looked at his fingertips. They were stained red.

"You should really take care of that," Ozworth said. "It's bleeding like mad."

"He did take an Atroce Blade to the face," Grant said, striding over to the two. "When did you arrive here, Margaret?"

Caitlin Margaret, a female knight who had led the rest of the squadron ahead to Morroc, was removing her bloodied Gungnir from a dead rogue. She was a pretty woman with blonde tresses and bangs so light that they appeared white. Being the closest knight to being promoted to lord knight, she had the highest rank in the group that moved ahead so she naturally had to take charge.

"About half an hour ago, Sir Graves," she saluted. "We've been waiting at the outskirts of the town." She caught sight of Reinbach's bloodied visage.

"You should get that taken care of, Kristoph," she suggested. She strode over and handed him a plain white cotton handkerchief.

"Thank you, Lady Margaret," Reinbach said. He dabbed the wound on his face gently, wincing as he did so. Why hadn't he noticed this earlier?

"Hmm?" Margaret said. She pulled the white cloth bag off of the quivering lump in front of Reinbach.

"AHHHHHH NOOOOO!" Aloys yelled. Startled, Margaret flinched backwards slightly, but regained her composure when she realized who it was.

"Oh, it's you," the young thief noted. "Hey, don't scare me like that!"

Margaret blinked a couple of times, surprised to meet the young thief again so soon.

"Uh… so you've managed to find your way back to Morroc, I see," she said.

"I sure did!" Aloys piped. "These nice people saved me from wolves too!"

"If you stole our equipment back from Volkov," Grant said. "How did you manage to be ahead of us?"

"Ahahaha! Ahaahaha! Well! If you're being chased by rogues and wolves, you sure can run fast!" he laughed sheepishly. The knights and crusaders exchanged speechless glances, while Aloys kept laughing.

"Well, this time might have been an exception," Margaret said sternly. "But try not to live that kind of life." She handed him a small round brown bag of coins. "Regardless of the method you use, we can't really leave you here without some kind of payment for returning our equipment."

"Oh hey, thanks!" Aloys said. "Old woman Reeves would love this!"

"Old woman Reeves?" Weiss repeated. "Is that how you are supposed to refer to your mother?"  
"She's not my mom!" Aloys shot. "She runs the orphanage where I live!"

An awkward silence fell upon them.

"I-I'm very sorry," Weiss muttered.

"Well if it's not to much of a burden," Margaret said quickly. "Would you mind taking Reinbach here to the orphanage so he can take care of his injury?"

* * *

_Morroc Orphanage_

Beads of perspiration were forming on Daphne's brow as she bent over the bubbling cauldron of stew. Not too far from her, Rachel sat in a chair at an archaic wooden relic of a table, kicking her feet and quietly singing her ABC's.

"… We're feeding fifteen people," she murmured. "About three pounds of meat should do it." She sprinkled salt into the cauldron just as someone knocked on the open doorframe of the orphanage kitchen.

"Just a minute," she sang. She gently dropped some pre-chopped vegetables into liquid as to avoid splashing, then stirred with a large wooden ladle. "Now, what can I do for -" Daphne let out a small scream.

Spider was leaning against the splintered wooden doorframe of the kitchen, wearing his brown traveling cloak. For a wild moment, Daphne thought about her wand that was left at home.

"Tch," Spider said to someone outside of the kitchen. "You talk to her. I'll go write that letter." He stood up and left. Rachel looked confusedly between Daphne and the kitchen doorway.

Daphne realized how ridiculous she must have looked, armed with a wooden ladle against an assassin cross, as her rapidly beating heart slowly began to calm down. Her eyes widened when Argos walked into the kitchen.

"Richard," she whispered urgently. "What are you doing here? What are you doing with that man!?"

"He's my partner," Argos said. Before Daphne could interpret what this meant, he placed something on the table and slid it towards her. Rachel eyed the plant curiously.

"You're an assassin too!?" she gasped. "What is that? What are you going to do to me?"

"It's a shining plant," Argos said simply. "There's a reason why you're going to need this."

"Why?"

"Falsely induced death," the assassin explained. "That plant will produce an herb that will awaken you from such a state. There will come a time when the Pope's men will come here looking for you. You're a wanted woman, Daphne Trenton."

"… So you figured out who I was," Daphne said, her eyes narrowing. More than ever, she wished the ladle in her hand were her wand. She felt extremely vulnerable and unarmed, with an innocent child whom Argos could kill in the blink of an eye.

"So…" she said slowly. "Why would I need to trick someone into thinking that I'm dead?"

"You can't keep running forever," Argos said. "Just before the Pope's men find you, either my partner or I will stick a dagger in a critical point in your body. You will stop breathing. Your body will grow cold. But your heart will beat ever so slowly, softly. They will believe you to be dead."

Rachel began poking the leaves of the shining plant.

"But if they think that I am dead…"

"Correct. Prontera will blame Morroc for your death. War will ensue shortly after."

Daphne shook her head angrily.

"How dare you suggest such a horrible thing! Forging war of all things!"

"War will happen whether we like it or not," the assassin continued. "You know this well yourself. Sooner or later one side will find a reason. And it was probably the Pope who hired me to kill you; even if I refuse, then he will hire another one until you finally die. The Pope is a relentless man. If your death will trigger a war, then trick them into thinking that you are dead and flee the country. Either way, war will happen, but one alternative keeps you alive."

Daphne dropped the ladle and slumped to the floor; her red-ember eyes fixed to Argos.

"Even if you say that," she whispered. "The king is the one with the power."

"The king?" Argos scoffed. "That useless feeble-minded man who lies on his deathbed as we speak? Our father holds no more power over Prontera than the common civilian does. You know this. The real power lies in the hands of the Pope."

"Our father…?" Daphne repeated. "Richard, could it be that you…"

"After your supposed death," Argos continued, ignoring her question. "Prontera will release a statement confirming your death. She will begin to mobilize her forces and gather her armies. She will wait one week and then Morroc will be razed to the ground. Before that happens, you must return to Prontera and call an end to the madness. As the crown princess, you can do it."

"Surely, you also can do it also," Daphne said fervently.

"I'm just an illegitimate child between the king of Prontera and a Morroc concubine," Argos said, shaking his head. "I represent everything that both sides despise. If there's anyone who has the political power to challenge the Pope, it is you, after you have supposedly died and the information of your existence is released to the public. Only after you have been revealed as a princess do you have the ability to stop him."

"I'm sorry," Daphne said, rubbing her temples. "I need time to think."

* * *

_Morroc Orphanage_

Reinbach followed Aloys into the decrepit-looking building, a sense of foreboding growing in him. He wondered whether it would be completely sanitary to dress his face wound here. An old woman at the table mumbled something feebly at them as they entered.

"Hey old woman Reeves!" Aloys said. "I brought some money!" He dropped the bag of coins given to him from Margaret and turned to face Reinbach.

"This is where you live?" he asked Aloys.

"Yup!" the boy responded. "But since we're poor, most of the time I'm outside in the desert trying to - " he stopped in mid-sentence, catching himself.

"So you had such a reason like this..." the knight said quietly. "You didn't have much of a choice."

Mrs. Reeves pointed to the kitchen with a bony finger, as if telling the two of them to go there. They strode towards the kitchen; Aloys carefully stepping around the splinters of the floor as he walked.

"Hey who are you?" the thief asked. Reinbach stepped into the doorway of the kitchen and caught sight of Daphne and a young man his own age.

"Daphne!? What are you doing here?"

The young witch's eyes darted to the doorframe behind Argos. Her hand flew to her mouth as she recognized the knight standing in the doorway.

"Kristoph!?"

Argos turned around and looked at the two newcomers. A knight with short, streaked blonde hair and a thief with a red hat. _Not worth my time_, he thought.

"Think about our offer, Daphne Trenton, and what rides on the stake," the assassin said. "And take care of that plant." He turned and walked past Reinbach and Aloys, not even sparing them a glance.

Reinbach scowled at Argos as the other teenager left.

"Daphne, who was that?" he finally asked, walking inside the kitchen.

Daphne shook her head. "I- I can't say. More importantly, Kristoph... your face..."

Reinbach's eyes suddenly turned distantly neutral, but his gloved hands balled into fists. Not noticing this, Daphne grabbed a section of cloth and rinsed it with water in the sink. She stepped towards Reinbach, reaching up to dab his wound with the cloth. Rachel turned her attention from the shining plant to the two newcomers.

"I've come to take you back to Prontera," Reinbach said in a serious voice after a moment's pause. Daphne immediately stepped backwards, a trace of fear growing in her eyes. She recalled Argos's warning about the Pope.

"What?" Rachel said. "Did the Pope hire you?" she asked tremulously. The young man ignored the question.

"It's not true, is it?" Reinbach asked, stepping forward. "Those rumors that the King being poisoned... I know you've always hated him but–"

"Enough!" Daphne snapped. "I don't know where you got these ideas but to think of me poisoning my own father!"

"I'm sure if you appeal to the court, then they'll drop the charges," Reinbach continued. "All those rumors are groundless, the fact that you're running away just makes them seem true."

"I'm not running away!"

"You won't have to stay in this hovel–"

Daphne stepped forward and slapped Reinbach in the face, breathing heavily. At the same time, Rachel jumped out of the chair and ran between the two of them, as if to shield Daphne from the knight. Blood began to seep from the reopened wound on Reinbach's face.

"Leave momma alone!" she shouted. Reinbach's eyes widened at this.

"...Momma!?" he asked, shocked. He turned his attention from Rachel to Daphne.

"How dare you call this orphanage a hovel, you arrogant, filthy, brutish–"

"Who is this girl?" Reinbach asked.

"That's none of your business," she shot back.

"Who was that guy?"

"That's none of your business!" Daphne repeated.

"What about that plant he gave you?"

"None of your business!" the young witch repeated stubbornly.

The two of them glared at each other, ignoring Rachel, who was angrily attempting to beat Reinbach's knees into submission with her fists. It was as if an invisible wall sprung up between them, magnifying their tempers.

"Fine," Reinbach said, turning to leave the kitchen. "I'm leaving."

"Fine," Daphne echoed, crossing her arms over her chest, Rachel copying her. "See if I care."

Reinbach stepped out of the kitchen, with Aloys following closely behind him.

"So," the little boy asked. "Was she your girlfriend?"

"Shut it, you," Reinbach growled.

* * *

_Morroc Residence_

"Yaxely," a voice whispered from the window. "Yaxely, are you there?"

Spider stuck his head out the window of his house and looked around.

"Hama?" he asked. "Where are you?"

"Never mind that," Hama's disembodied voice said. "There's something you need to know about this mission."

"What is it? And will you please come in my house? It's creepy talking to a floating voice. My neighbors will think I've gone mad."

"Not enough time. Can't be seen talking to you either," Hama explained.

"Well then out with it," Spider replied.

"My sources have confirmed that there will be complications with your hit," the man said. "The Pope's sent men to escort Argos's hit to Prontera. The two of you will have to move things ahead of schedule."

"Wait what!?" _If the Pope ordered men to escort Daphne to the capital, then why would he request her assassination?_

"Chevalier Paladin Grant Graves was chosen for this mission, along with precisely 16 knights and crusaders," Hama said.

"WHAT!?" Spider stood up straight, hitting the back of his head to the window. He winced.

"Have you heard of him?"

"...Yeah."

"Good. Since they conflict with your client's request, you'll have to silence them. Any other questions?"

"... Hama."

"What is it?" Hama asked.

"Do you know by any chance who requested the hit?" Spider asked, praying silently. He was risking a lot by asking that question. The assassin's code, an unbreakable and tacit law for all assassins, required among many things, that an assassin never ask questions regarding their client. To do so was virtually taboo.

"... Yaxely. You know better than to ask that."

"Yeah I know," Spider said. "I was just really curious as to who would request the assassination of the princess."

"... So you knew that much, eh?"

"I did indeed."

"You know I can't answer that. I'll pretend that you didn't ask that question," Hama said. "For old time's sake."

"Sorry, and thanks, Hama." Spider buried his face into his palm and sighed.

"I'll be going now."

Several questions were burning in Spider's mind. His head was spinning, and it wasn't because he banged it against the top of his window frame. _Was Grant actually going to take Daphne back to the capital? If the Pope didn't request the hit, then who did? And most importantly, how were they going to get out of this mess?_

* * *


	6. Red

* * *

_Twelve years prior_

A sudden rush of death.

That was the best way to describe the way he killed his targets. Although they might have struggled differently, or attempted valiantly to cling to their fading lives, all of their final moments were preceded with a quick, slicing of air as his katars hungrily dug into human flesh, spilling blood and bodily fluids on the ground. This woman was no different.

She had been a concubine of the king of Prontera; treated exquisitely, bathed in wine and silks before being kicked out of the palace with her unborn child. In the cruel, outside world, she was forced to resort to begging and prostitution to feed herself and her son. But his prior surveillance of the woman revealed to him that she never lost her pride and composure. He was fascinated, carefully and stealthily observing his first target that was or had been treated with royalty.

Apparently, those who had been treated with royalty died just like the rest of the filthy swine commoners. A sudden rush of death followed by a splash of red, painting the ground.

He squatted to the ground to get a closer look at the blood spilling out of woman's neck and between her fingers. The woman was still alive; she was trying valiantly to stem the flow of life gushing out of her. Her mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water; gasping for air but only spewing out blood. Her eyes, fierce and wild, glared at his face until they grew glassy and unfocused. How pretentious.

The sound of rushing footsteps alerted him to someone's arrival. He looked at the doorway and noticed the half-breed brat of the woman's son running towards him with a dagger drawn. With nonchalant ease, the man plucked the dagger out of the boy's fist and tripped him; the boy fell face down onto the ground and slid in his mother's blood. He laid there unmoving.

The man shrugged. His client had requested that both the mother and the son be killed, but he saw no point in killing a little brat who was going to die in the harshness of the streets and poverty anyways. He had just wiped clean his katars after killing the whore; he had no desire to clean his weapons again. Nor did he want to get his gloves bloody from strangling a child who was soaking in blood. He turned to leave.

A small hand grabbed onto the heel of his boots; the man glanced down and noticed the boy grabbing onto his foot. Annoyance bubbled up inside of him; now his left boot was stained! With a growl, he shifted his hold on the dagger to a throwing grip when he noticed the boy's eyes glaring up at him.

Red irises. Full of rage and hatred, ready to kill and maul and destroy... to _silence_. In spite of himself, the man recoiled slightly and stepped backwards.

He chuckled. This boy would make an excellent assassin, without a doubt. Given the proper training, he could turn this child into an angel of death, a tireless machine engineered to assassinate. Yes... Richard King would make a marvelous addition to his assassins guild. But no longer would he go by that name.

* * *

_Desert town Morroc, Prontera Embassy_

Reinbach tightly gripped the wooden training sword by the handle, glaring at the deep brown finish. He could see some semblance of the bandages over the wound on his face. Wordlessly, he raised the sword over his head and swung; the wooden blade _whooshed_ through the air as it sliced.

One. Two. Three. Four...

"You seem troubled." Grant was leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed.

Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine...

Reinbach stopped swinging the training sword, brow furrowed in deep thought. _Should I tell him that I found Daphne already? Would he tell me to leave Daphne in Morroc or order me to turn her in?_

"By the way," the paladin said. "About what I wanted to talk to you about earlier,"

"What is it?" Reinbach asked. But he had a good idea of what Grant was going to bring up.

"Back then when we were engaging Volkov, after you stabbed his shoulder with your spear."

"...Ah."

"I told you to leave him to me; your job was to take out any rogues that you could handle. But you hesitated."

"I have no excuse for my actions, Sir," Reinbach said curtly. He had no desire to tell Grant about the uncontrollable rage he felt before attacking the fallen lord knight. If possible, he preferred to keep that a secret from anyone; to be buried deep within his memories and never to be brought up again.

"Why did you hesitate?" Grant asked. Reinbach froze, unable to turn around and look at the paladin in the face.

"I was angry," the knight said simply after a moment's pause.

"Because you were angry...?" the paladin repeated. "Reinbach, you were about to fight a former lord knight! If you lose sight of your focus, then you basically hand your head to him on a platter!"

"As I said, I have no excuse for my actions. I will take any punishment necessary."

"I told you before to make your own decisions as much as follow orders, but getting angry in the middle of battle will cost you your life!"

"Volkov went berserk and he's still alive," Reinbach muttered quietly.

"Volkov is a lord knight," Grant said, shaking his head. "Albeit a former one, but he has enough experience to channel it properly." The man suddenly gave a double-take after saying this. His eyes went wide as he came to a revelation. "Don't tell me... you–"

"I don't know," Reinbach admitted reluctantly. Since Grant had guessed this much, there wouldn't be much of a point in hiding it anymore. "All I know was I felt angry and wanted to kill him."

Grant gave Reinbach a long, hard stare.

"If it can be helped, don't fall prey to that state of mind again," he said after a while. "You probably know this already, but if you enter the berserk state without the experience and the ability to channel it properly, you will never be the same again. It's happened before, and the end result is always the same."

_This man,_ Reinbach thought. _More than anything, he is looking after my well-being and placing the importance of human life above the mission. I might be able to confide in him._

He turned to face Grant, throwing all caution to the wind.

"I found Daphne Trenton," he said, without any prelude. The older man seemed taken aback.

"So, what did you think of her?" the paladin asked. Now it was the knight's turn to be surprised.

"You're not going to reprimand me for failing to bring her back?" he asked in turn. "... Sir?"

"Well I just wanted to know what kind of person you thought she was," Grant replied. "But I'm also particularly interested in why you chose not to bring her here."

The knight looked down to the ground. "I first met Daphne Trenton in school," he said. "That girl I told you about while we were traveling here; it was Daphne who I was referring to."

Grant stared at him, his expression neutral.

"So why did you agree to come on this mission, knowing that you would have to turn in a friend? You knew fully well the mission's true objectives by the time we left Prontera."

The knight shook his head.

"Of course I knew. That's why I had to go; I felt as though I was one of the only ones who could persuade her to return to Prontera willingly."

"So? What did she say?"

"She's not leaving Morroc," Reinbach said vaguely.

"Is that your decision or hers?" the paladin pressed.

The knight didn't answer.

"Let me tell you something," Grant said. "The reason why I brought you to this mission is because I hoped to teach you something more important than following orders faithfully."

"Are you telling me to disobey orders, sir?" Reinbach asked.

"I'm telling you to think things through," the paladin replied. "If the Pope told you to cut off someone's head, would you do it?" Reinbach snapped his attention to Grant.

"The Pope would never do such a thing!" he exclaimed.

"Yet here we are in Morroc," the paladin crossed his arms over his chest. "Bringing in Daphne Trenton to the capital on suspicions of high treason. That is tantamount to execution."

"That's different..." Reinbach said, unsure of himself. He shut his eyes tightly and shook his head, as if to shake away unnecessary thoughts. He sounded conflicted.

"The world can never really be viewed as black and white," said Grant. "If anything, it's mostly shades of gray, and rarely the case it is solid black or white."

"I'm just a knight... All I need to do is follow orders."

"Think about what's really important to you," he continued. "You can follow your orders to the point for the rest of your life and become an excellent knight. But at that point, you will have died. You will have lost control of your own will, and become a pawn on a chess board."

The knight dropped his sword-stance to the ground, the training sword hanging loosely from his grip.

"Why don't you take today off?" Grant suggested. "Think about what choice you want to make from here on out. But don't let my words influence your decisions; this is something you have to choose on your own."

"Yes sir," Reinbach said as he saluted the paladin. The image of Daphne's face glaring stubbornly at him rose in his mind's eye; it was definitely not a face he wanted to be directed towards him. There was in fact something he wanted to do; he hoped that it would be enough to make her smile.

* * *

_Morroc Desert_

He was furious.

Usually, Volkov was furious at almost everything. He was furious at the politics of the Prontera Chivalry. Those prissy fools sent men after him twice a week to capture him; why not send the whole damned Chivalry and be done with it, instead of dragging it out? That way, he could enjoy the blood of battle and the songs of men screaming as they died.

Yes... the crunching of bones and fountains of blood spurting into the air; that's what excited him the most, more than money, liquor, or women. He was death incarnate, the leader of the desert wolves of Morroc, the god of war. He took a swig of the red mushroom wine in the bottle on the nightstand next to him.

He was furious at Grant Graves, the paladin who managed to bring their fight to a standstill. Twice. More than ever, he wanted to grab his Atroce Blade and slice and dice that pompous swordsman-turned-altar-boy into bits. More for the sake of his own pride rather than for the purpose of doubling his own bounty.

He'll die in due time. He would make sure of it.

He was furious at the sudden disappearance of his loot that the rogues managed to steal earlier today. Volkov had successfully pulled off his third raid that week. Spirits were high and liquor had been flowing that night; somewhere during that time interval, someone had the audacity and the nerve to steal from him. HIM! The notorious desert wolf!

But this time, Volkov was exceptionally furious. A couple of times, he caught himself slipping into the berserk state, flickering between the thin line between consciousness and frenzy. Fortunately he had somewhat passable self-control; otherwise his band of rogues would have a couple of openings in it. Whether it was the quick reflexes of the rogues around him, or the lingering consciousness that stayed his sword-hand, Volkov wasn't sure, but he was glad that he did not have to look for replacements.

That knight.

That knight, who couldn't have been more than seventeen or eighteen summers old. The one who stabbed him with the Zephyrus spear that he HIMSELF stole personally. He was willing to bet that those riders met up with whoever stole their loot. HE was the reason why his shoulder was currently out of commission, the reason why he was suffering now!

Oh yes, that knight will die. Reinbach, was it? His head will roll to the ground, his carcass will bake in the Morroc sun, the ravens will feed on his flesh-

Volkov's hand snatched his Atroce Blade at his side, but the former lord knight caught himself just in time. For a minute, he was stuck in that position, wrestling for dominance over his rage, then the muscles in his arm slackened. He sighed.

That was close; he almost lost control again. He felt something burning on his shoulder. As he turned his attention from his sword to his shoulder, the bandages on his right shoulder turned red. His wound had reopened. Growling, he tossed back his head and took another swig of the wine.

He was going to kill that foolish knight as soon as his shoulder healed, he swore it. Anyone audacious enough to injure him; all of them eventually died by his hand. A malicious grin grew on his face and he rubbed the scar across the bridge of his nose. Just like that high wizard, who was skilled enough to even injure his face: he repaid that by killing him. He could still remember the man's blood running down the length of his blade... Volkov drank deeply from the wine bottle, draining the red liquid into his throat greedily.

* * *

_The next morning, Morroc Orphanage_

On the way to the orphanage, Daphne Trenton was in an apprehensive mood, not at all looking forward to the long day ahead of her. She sighed heavily. The more Daphne thought about it, the more she regretted slapping Kristoph in the face when he was already bleeding from that horrible cut across his nose. That unpleasant memory, coupled with Argos's harrowing offer was enough to dampen her most optimistic spirits. Rachel, oblivious to her adoptive mother's unhappy mood, skipped and hummed a tune behind her, holding a new children's book.

"Momma!" Rachel tugged on Daphne's cloak. "What's that sound?"

"Hmm? What noise, Rachel?" Daphne asked. As they approached the orphanage, she was quite surprised to hear the sharp thwacking sounds of a hammer striking wood ringing out from inside the building. Her curiosity piqued, she and Rachel hurriedly strode towards the orphanage to investigate the source of the noise. A few of the orphanage's children were standing outside, peering curiously into the windows and talking excitedly. Upon Daphne and Rachel's arrival, the children jumped up and ran to her.

"Miss Daphne! Miss Daphne!" they called.

"What's going on, children?" the witch asked. One of the children pointed into the open doorway.

She peeked inside and almost dropped the bag of groceries she was carrying.

Someone had replaced the decaying, splintered floorboards of the orphanage's main room with fresh, smooth planks of wood. The visual change was such a startling difference that for a second, Daphne wondered whether she had come to the right building. Some of the other orphans were rolling around on the new floor, or running from the main room to the hallway, playing, laughing. Mrs. Reeves herself, though still sitting at her usual spot at her desk, looked mildly bewildered at the change. Daphne stepped into the orphanage, gaping at the floorboards, Rachel following closely behind her.

"Momma!" Rachel piped up. "The floorboards!" She ran to the center of the main room and did a small twirl, loosing her balance. She fell to the ground, but she was laughing.

"I know!" Daphne breathed. She set the bag of groceries on the desk were Mrs. Reeves was sitting. The old woman pointed to the kitchen doorway, mumbling quietly. The young woman followed her finger and peered inside the kitchen. The kitchen doorway had been blocked with a makeshift barricade of chairs, but Daphne figured that looking inside wouldn't hurt. She gasped and her hand flew to her mouth.

The kitchen floor too, had been renovated, but with smooth, slate gray tiles across the ground. The grout between the tiles had not yet dried, hence the reason for the chairs in the doorway. Daphne guessed that whoever did the kitchen floor had only finished a few hours ago. Whoever was causing those continuous hammer strikes on wood was still inside the orphanage.

"Who could have done this?" Daphne asked to Mrs. Reeves. The older woman pointed the hallway next, where the source of the sound was coming from. The young witch swallowed, then slowly walked to the hallway into the first room.

The first room was only half-finished – the old floorboards had already been ripped out from the floor, but the new wooden planks covered about half of the ground inside the room. A blonde young man with his shirt off was kneeling down over the edge of the new floor, hammering nails into the wood with his back to the doorway.

" 'Scuse me!" a boy's voice called from behind her. Daphne stepped into the room to let the boy pass; Aloys, carrying a lumpy brown cloth bag, strode into the room. "Hey! I brought more nails!"

The young man stopped hammering, then stood up to face Aloys.

"Oh good, I was running out – " He froze when he noticed Daphne.

"Kristoph..." Daphne said quietly. Reinbach opened his mouth but no words came out.

"Ah..." he managed. "Um..." The two of them stared at each other, not saying anything.

Just then, Ozworth strode into the hallway outside the doorway carrying a hefty load of more wooden planks.

"Oh!" Ozworth said. "I'll leave you two alone for a bit." He walked back outside the hallway out of sight.

"Did you do all this?" Daphne asked. Reinbach looked away.

"I – well... I was planning on finishing this room before you arrived," he said gruffly. Without notice, Daphne rushed forward and threw her arms around Reinbach.

"Oh Kristoph, Kristoph, you idiot!" she sobbed. Reinbach, who had not been expecting this, just stood still, unsure of what to do.

"H-hey," he said. "I'm all covered in sweat and sawdust." But Daphne didn't let go, only hugging Reinbach tighter.

"I don't care," she smiled up at him, after she managed to stop crying. She looked away, her red pupil eyes blinking away tears. "You went and did this after I treated you so horribly yesterday..."

"It's okay," he said, craning his head down to look at her. "Really." For a moment, they stood there looking at each other. Both of them blushed, suddenly realizing that they were hugging. Daphne let go of Reinbach's torso and stepped back.

"Ah... sorry," Reinbach said, as though he had been the one who initiated the hug.

"Idiot," Daphne laughed. "Why are you apologizing?"

"For what happened yesterday," he added quickly. Daphne shook her head, wiping her lingering tears with the hem of her cloak.

"It's okay," she said echoing what he said earlier. "Really."

"I've been thinking," Reinbach said. "And I've decided that I wouldn't take you back. Your calling seems to be here. If this place is so important to you, I'll accept that. Whoever that girl was, or that guy was, it doesn't matter to me."

"Kristoph..." Daphne breathed. Once again, they were back to looking at each other.

"GET A ROOM!" Aloys yelled. Daphne and Reinbach both jumped, startled.

"What are you saying!?" Reinbach said quickly. "A-anyways, the kitchen tile grout should be dry by now. Why don't we take a look?"

They walked out of the first room and into the main room of the orphanage. Two other young men were working on the floors as well.

"The kitchen tile didn't take too long," Reinbach admitted, walking across the main room to the kitchen. He picked up a towel and draped around his shoulders. "It wasn't that big in the first place. Ozworth and Weiss – they're two of the guys who came with me – they helped too." He gestured to the knight and crusader in the room with them; neither of them had their armor on, but they had an aura about them usually present in armored cavalry.

"Call me Olin," Ozworth said while painting varnish on one side of the floor, flashing an easy grin. His cedar brown hair was held in place with a cloth bandanna. He was wearing a simple brown tunic and trousers.

"Juniper Weiss, at your service," Weiss said formally. He was moving furniture. A white shirt adorned his frame. Some of his shoulder length black hair fell in curls around his face, but the rest was in a tie at the nape of his neck.

"I really appreciate what you are doing for this orphanage," Daphne smiled.

"Don't worry about it," said Weiss. "It was Reinbach's idea anyways. If there's anyone who deserves a thank-you, it's him," he added.

The blonde knight coughed loudly in an attempt to cover Weiss's words, but it was a vain effort.

"Stop it," he said, weakly.

"He's such a romantic, he is," Ozworth said. "Asked us to lend him a hand as soon as he got the idea. Went ahead and charged through without thinking, just like a true knight. Oh, if I were a fair maiden in distress, I would have _swooned_." The knight raised his hand to his forehead dramatically, placing an emphasis on the last word for extra effect. Weiss was trying valiantly not to laugh.

"That's enough, you two," Reinbach growled. "You've been around Aloys too long." Daphne couldn't help herself; she giggled at their antics.

"We can start moving furniture back into the kitchen," he called to Weiss and Ozworth. The blonde knight pulled the chair barricade out of the doorway and stepped into the kitchen.

* * *

_Nightfall, Morroc Residence_

"Argos," Spider whispered. He stood not to far behind him in the alleyway leading to the town square. The younger assassin stiffened and grabbed his katars on reflex. "Relax, it's me," Spider continued.

"What is it?" Argos demanded, letting go of his katar handles. "And don't sneak up on me like that."

"I got word of some men that the Pope hired. They're to bring Daphne Trenton to the capital." The two of them already knew that the Pope wanted Daphne brought to the capital, due to the public wanted ad for her capture. By silently sending in men after the wanted ad had been recalled, it would have been harder to protect her from potential captors. They would have to brace themselves now; it was uphill from here on out.

"Do you have any info on them?" asked Argos.

"Sixteen knights and crusaders, led by a paladin. I happen to know the leader, but as of right now, I don't know if we can trust him or not."

Argos vividly recalled the other teenager he encountered in the kitchen last night. If he remembered correctly, he was a blonde young male appearing to be his own age, wearing knight's armor. At the time, Argos didn't think much of him.

"...Damn it!" Argos cursed.

"Hmm?"

"I saw a knight in the orphanage yesterday talking to Daphne!"

"...Well, I just came back from checking up on Daphne myself. She's still there. Some guys were replacing the orphanage floors. They didn't look like knights or crusaders."

"I'll go check out the orphanage," Argos said. He ran straight into the alley wall opposite of him and wall jumped from wall to wall to the rooftops.

"I wouldn't worry too much if I were you," Spider called. "Those men didn't seem like they were there bring our target to Prontera."

"You can say that after we trick the Pope's men into thinking she's already dead," hissed Argos, breaking into a run.

The assassin cross watched his junior partner disappear over the rooftops, in search of the knight he encountered yesterday.

_I suppose I should start looking for Grant,_ Spider thought. _Knowing him, he's a fair man; he'll come talk to me before taking any action._

* * *

_Morroc Orphanage_

It was not until some hours later after Daphne first arrived at the orphanage that day did Reinbach, Ozworth and Weiss finished replacing the hallway floorboards. Many of the orphans thanked them after they finished; some didn't even wait and showed their gratitude as the three worked.

"Feels good to have contributed to the community," Ozworth said between bites of bread, as he walked out of the building.

"In the end, you took back from it," Weiss scolded, walking next to him. He eyed the bread that Ozworth had in his hand. The knight looked down at the loaf, then at Weiss.

"Want some, Juniper?" he offered.

"I decline," Weiss deadpanned. Just then, the crusader's stomach gave a rather audible growl. Ozworth snickered.

"Here's an idea," the knight said. "Why don't you and I go ahead and grab some dinner. We can leave our fellow knight in shining amor–" he coughed "–armor here to woo away at his heart's content."

"When are you going to give that up?" Reinbach sighed, burying his face into his palm.

"When are you going to tie the knot?" Ozworth shot, grinning maliciously. "Juni-poo and I going on a date; can you say that the two of you have gone on a date yet?"

"Juni-poo!?" Weiss asked, recoiling from Ozworth. The knight playfully slapped Weiss on the shoulder.

"Relax," Ozworth said. "I'm joking."

Reinbach suddenly stopped in his tracks, looking at his sides. "Oh I forgot my equipment," he said. "You two go on without me, I'll catch up."

"How convenient!" Ozworth said. "Break a leg, Romeo!" Weiss and Ozworth walked back towards the town center.

Reinbach hurriedly snuck back into the orphanage, not wanting to disturb Daphne as she served the orphans' dinner. He found his Zephyrus, along with the rest of his equipment carefully tucked in the corner of the main room. Quickly and quietly, he suited up and picked up his possessions, then made his way back outside.

Although the sun had long set, and the moon reigned high in the sky, the desert town was still warm from the lingering heat. Reinbach strode briskly along the street, his Zephyrus in hand. He didn't want to keep Ozworth and Weiss waiting long at the agreed meeting point. The nights in Morroc were known to be relatively dangerous as well; nothing like the safe and well-patrolled cobblestone streets of Prontera. Plenty of shady folk and suspicious character sulked about the Morroc slums. He was glad he was armored and holding his weapon; that alone was probably enough to chase off any prospective gangsters and thieves.

As he turned past a corner, the shadow of a figure on the rooftops was thrown into sharp relief in the moonlight, over the ground in front of Reinbach. The knight froze then whirled around. His eyes narrowed as he recognized the person looking down at him.

"Going to report to your commanding officer, dog of the Pope?" Argos asked, in an unfriendly tone. His cloak was open, revealing his assassin's uniform and both hands gripping onto icicle katars.

"I knew it," Reinbach scowled. "You weren't just a plain civilian." His fingers tightened around the Zephyrus spear shaft. "What were you doing talking to Daphne yesterday?" he demanded.

Argos didn't dignify him with an answer.

"Answer me!" Reinbach growled.

The assassin only lifted his katars.

"Fine," Reinbach said. "We'll do this your way." He hefted his spear up in response to Argos's battle stance. "I'm Kristoph Reinbach of the Prontera Chivalry!"

* * *


	7. Struggle

Re-uploaded to fix a ton of grammatical errors! Tsk tsk, Kyle. You're supposed to catch these things.

* * *

_Morroc Town Center, Nightfall_

The decorative fosse at the center of Morroc caught the moon's reflection in a way that made it more dazzling to behold in the water, rather than looking at the sky directly. Spider's gaze fell into the reflection, briefly admiring the floating stars dancing in the gently rippling water, and then he continued to stride past. If he was not mistaken, Grant should have at least left him a message informing him of a rendezvous point where they could meet later. He had known the paladin long enough to pick up his subtle mannerisms and habits

The town center had just started to clear out. Children in the streets returned to their mothers, merchants packing up their wares and stragglers hurried to return home before the sky became too dark. There were only two types of people who stayed outside in the Morroc night; fools, and people like himself. Despite his sense of security, Spider increased his pace, impatient to check his mail for a potential message. He walked from the wide, open space of the town center into the dusty main street of Morroc. After a couple of alleyways down, he turned, disappearing into the shadows in the alleys of the residential district.

The assassin cross had to admit; he was worried about Grant Graves' course of action regarding the Pope's orders. The two of them were one of the select handful individuals who even knew of Daphne's existence and her political significance. Well, the same couldn't be said the other way around; Spider himself knew that Daphne Trenton didn't even know who he was. He had, on a couple of occassions, watched her house invisibly from the shadows; she didn't even know she was being protected. His mission was only to protect her life at all costs. As long as she stayed alive, she didn't need to know he was watching her.

Spider mentally berated himself for not noticing it earlier; he had personally escorted Daphne Trenton from Geffen to Morroc, and he was unaware of her identity the entire time! He was simply accustomed to associating suspicious individuals who wished to travel incognito with Morroc. When he took that request, all he knew was that his client was a woman who wanted to arrive at Morroc. No questions asked, as decreed by the Assassin's oath. In a sense, that was a folly of their creed; Assassins never truly knew what their clients were thinking, or their true objective. They never knew whether their task was simply a matter of petty revenge or a coup d'état; if the client wanted to keep his or her identity unknown, then the assassin had no right to inquire. But still... an assassin had certain methods that were available to him. As long as the client didn't find out, it was fine.

He turned the corner to the street where his house sat. Not too far from his front door, a cloaked figure stood, walking towards him. Spider ignored the person until she stepped forward to address him.

"Good evening," a woman's voice said to him.

* * *

_Morroc Slums_

Argos sprinted along the rooftop tiles and lept down into opposite wall not far from Reinbach. Without losing momentum, he continued running horizontally across the wall and circled around his opponent to attack from behind. Reinbach spun to catch the unusual attack; raising his zephyrus spear, the knight managed to block Argos's icicle katars inches before they reached his jugular.

"Assassin!" Reinbach growled over the clang of their weapons. "Not even going to introduce yourself?!"

Argos scowled back at Reinbach.

"There's no point in introducing myself to a dead man," he said, pushing back Reinbach's spear with his katars. He quickly ducked down to execute a low sweeping kick, which, Reinbach jumped backwards over, stumbling slightly. Not wasting this opportunity, Argos sprinted forward with his arms behind him, then swung his katars forward in a scissors motion.

Unexpectedly, Reinbach let himself fall backwards under the attack but propped himself up with the butt end of his spear to prevent himself from landing completely on his back. Argos's eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed as Reinbach quickly hoisted himself back onto two feet by pushing off from his precarious position, digging the zephyrus butt end into the ground.

"Tch!" Argos jumped backwards before Reinbach's head could crash into his chest. Once again, they were back to staring each other down from a short distance.

"What do you want with Daphne?" Reinbach demanded, pointing the zigzag spear point of the zephyrus at Argos.

"There's no point in telling a dead man!" the assassin repeated. He raised his forearms in a defensive X shape in front of his neck, legs spread in a low stance close to the ground. Reinbach snarled at Argos's stubbornness, then the two of them dashed forward to attack each other. The shaft of the Zephyrus spear landed directly where Argos's forearms intersected; the assassin slipped past the invasive attack and shoved it to the side with one arm. With his other hand he thrust forward, aiming for the knight's unprotected armpit. Reinbach let go of the spear with one hand and immediately curled his armored bicep to protect his unarmored joint. The katar glanced off his shoulder plate.

"Still spouting off that nonsense!?" Reinbach bellowed, swinging his free fist upward. It connected into Argos's chest, knocking the assassin backwards into the wall. Grabbing his zephyrus with both hands, Reinbach once again thrust forward, aiming for his opponent's neck. The spear point clanged against Argos's x-shaped defensive stance.

_...Something's wrong here,_ Argos thought. He executed a complex twisting maneuver with both katars and locked the tip of the spear to the ground. _My fingers are starting to feel numb._ Reinbach shoulder-butted the assassin in the chest and knocked him backwards. _But it should be the other way around! _Argos flexed his fingers around the grip of his icicle katars. To his dismay, he noticed small spider web cracks in the weapon's icicle-like blade. It seemed as though his weapon was severely disadvantaged here.

"I can fight dirty too, bastard!" Reinbach threatened. "We can do this your way if you want!" He shifted his stance to an overhead grip, poised to strike at a moment's notice.

The assassin twitched in anger at the insult. He didn't bother to suppress the growl in the back of his throat.

_To have lasted this long against me, _he thought. _It looks like I'll have to take a gamble!_ Argos focused his eyes on Reinbach's spear, daring not to breath, not to blink.

The assassin threw his icicle katars to the side, not even bothering to re-clip them onto his belt. At the same moment, Reinbach lunged forward and thrust towards Argos with his spear. The tip of the zephyrus grazed his ribs, tearing a hole in the cloth of his assassin uniform.

He had been counting on that.

With a tight spin, Argos threw off his cloak and balled the fabric around the zephyrus, where it caught on the jagged spear point. He immediately snatched his drill katars and wove the spiraling blade into the exposed prongs of the spear point. The blades caught; for a moment, Reinbach simply stared at Argos's improvised attack.

With a sharp twist of his forearms, the assassin yanked the spear out of Reinbach's hands, where it flew into the air above them, then rushed forward, thrusting his right katar towards Reinbach's face.

* * *

_Morroc Residential District_

"Sorry," Spider said. "I'm waiting for someone else right now." He made to walk towards his door, but the woman blocked his path.

"I'm not that kind of woman," she replied. Her voice turned a little husky. "Unless you want me to be." She took off her hood, red locks of hair tumbled down. The assassin cross stepped back in alarm. He had not expected to encounter the waitress of the _Muka House_.

"Oh!" Spider exclaimed. "Colette, was it? Sorry, I really am expecting a visitor. I'll go visit you tomorrow, I promise."

"Really? I was expecting someone too."

"Yes, well – " Spider froze. _Wait a minute. This isn't like her at all. She was never this forward..._

"His name is Quint Yaxely," she continued. "Would you happen to know him?"

A shock traveled down the man's spine. He snatched a pair of inverse scare katars and lunged towards Colette. Just before they could slice open her jugular vein, she jumped backwards a surprising distance.

"My my," Colette tutted. "So aggressive."

"How did you know my real name?" Spider asked in a low voice.

"I never said it was _your_ name," Colette said. "But you just confirmed it for me." But Spider had a strong suspicion that she had already known for a while, judging from her tone of voice.

"You wouldn't happen to be a stalker, would you?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," she said coyly.

Spider scowled. "Have it your way then, sweet cheeks," he said, clipping his katars onto his belt and drawing a pair of suscamad daggers. "I'll play with you."

A mischievous smile grew on Colette's face, as she drew eight glinting daggers from the hem of her sleeve to between her fingers.

"Which cheeks?" she asked.

_Completely different from yesterday,_ Spider thought. _A 180 degree flip in personality._ _What's with this girl?_

"Wouldn't you like to know," Spider replied ambiguously. He spread his feet far apart on the ground, widening his stance, ready to sprint forward at a moment's notice. Colette raised her hands into a throwing stance in response.

"Oh you're such a tease," Colette tittered.

For a moment, the two of them stared at each other, hardly daring to move. A warm desert breeze rustled the residential street, stirring the sand.

"Do you really intend to dodge multiple daggers at once?" the waitress asked sweetly.

Without warning, Spider bolted forward with a powerful snap of his legs. At the same time, Colette flicked her wrist slightly, tossing four of her daggers at the assassin cross.

"Like I could do such a thing!" Spider said. He balled his fist around a section of his cloak and flung it up sharply over his body; the flung daggers clattered against something metallic under the cloth. Just before the cloak could begin its descent downwards, he threw his suscamads wildly towards Colette, and then plunged his hands into the cloak to pull out a wickedly curving pair of silver shotels. It was clear what blocked Colette's daggers earlier.

The younger woman had managed to pluck one of the carelessly thrown suscamads out of its flight by its handle with her free hand, and flung the other four daggers towards Spider. One of the daggers grazed his thigh as he twisted out of the way. A curious burning sensation crept along the shallow cut.

_Poisoned!?_ Spider swore inwardly. _Just who exactly is this woman!?_

The assassin cross mercilessly forced his rapidly weakening limbs to piston harder; sprinting towards Colette as he twirled the silver shotels to a reverse grip. His vision was beginning to fade; his heart was beating rapidly. Beads of sweat formed on his brow – he didn't have much time, he needed to gamble – with a grunt, he rammed into Colette and knocked her into the wall behind her and swiftly raised his weapons upward, aiming for the spot under her biceps. The point of the shotels dug into the wall, trapping her arms inside the curve of the blade. The suscamad she caught clattered to the ground.

Once more, they were back to staring at each other silently, but this time, Spider had Colette trapped. Her cloak fell open, revealing a pair of tight black cut-offs and a form-fitting top over her svelte body. From where her arms disappeared under the cloak, he could glimpse a small portion of arm-warmers. His eyes widened.

"A stalker uniform!?"

Only the most talented rogues earned the right to call themselves stalkers; masters of trickery, deception, and spying. They were the assassins guild counterpart to the assassin cross rank, capable of stripping their opponents bare of equipment and mimicking their attacks, among other things.

The stalker threw her legs around Spider's hips, using his surprise to her advantage, and slid down against the wall, slipping her arms out from under the blade of the curved shotels. The man's legs buckled under the sudden increase in weight and he slumped to the ground. She forced her body weight forward, knocking Spider onto his back, then pinned his arms to the ground.

"Just a little reminder from our client," Colette whispered in his ear. "Your hit is supposed to be dead tonight."

"...and that warrants poisoning me?" he managed between gasps.

"It's myst poison, it wears off in a few minutes," she said lightly, standing up. "We can't have you out of commission just yet."

Something about that last word didn't bode well with the assassin cross. He felt some feeling return to his limbs, and with some effort, forced himself up into a sitting position. It seemed as if she hadn't been lying after all.

"I'll be going off to visit Richard-dear," Colette sang, twirling a lock of hair around her finger. "Shall I say Daddy said 'Hi?'"

"Stay out of it, princess," Spider muttered. "This is our job."

"Even if you say that," she replied. "My job is to carry out yours if you fail."

"I don't plan on failing," said Spider. _Failing to bring Daphne to safety,_ he added mentally. He stood up, staggering a little from a wave of dizziness. Colette tilted her head as she looked at him.

"But your mission was to kill Daphne Trenton by nightfall tonight," she pointed out. "Which means if I find little Richard or Daphne before you do –"

"You wouldn't dare, ginger," he snarled.

"Shall we make a game out of it?"

Spider gave her his most acidic glare. _This isn't good. I'm still recovering from that poison... _"You think you can, with your fighting ability?" he challenged. Colette's eyes narrowed dangerously, but her flirtatious smile stayed.

"Want me to test it out?" she asked. Colette's mischievous blue eyes sparkled into Spider's green irises.

"Want me to let you?" he asked back, inverse scare katars suddenly appearing in his hands. For a moment, they stood facing each other silently. Then Colette sprinted up the wall near her, using the shotels buried into the wall as footholds.

"I'd hurry if I were you," she called from the rooftops. "After all, Quint Yaxely has a bounty of only two and a half million. I, on the other hand, have a bounty of three million." She disappeared.

Spider growled.

_Shit._

"Quint?" a man's voice called. Spider turned to face the newcomer. "What are you doing?"

"Grant!" the assassin cross exclaimed. "There's no time for that! Hurry, help me inside."

* * *

_Morroc Slums_

Reinbach jerked his head backwards as quickly as he could, but he still felt the tip of the drill katars scrape across the bridge of his nose to his right cheekbone. Staggering backwards, he couldn't tell if his skin had been broken or not. The Zephyrus spear that Argos had disarmed clattered to the ground behind the assassin. He was now facing a trained opponent without any weapons. _This is bad._

At that moment, a red firecracker sparkled in the distant air above, followed by a dull _boom._ The two young men looked at the unusual firecracker in the night sky. Argos narrowed his eyes. _Red fireworks meant to drop everything to carry out the plan as soon as possible_. He dashed forward past Reinbach and sprinted for the corner, snatching up his icicle katars as he went.

"Wait!" Reinbach shouted. "Where do you think you're running off to?"

Argos stopped momentarily. He turned his head, looking at the knight from the corner of his eye.

"Running off?" he scowled. "It's clear who the winner of this battle was, dog of the Pope. Next time we meet, I'll kill you." He disappeared around the corner.

"Bastard!" the knight growled. He grabbed his zephyrus, then began running after Argos. As soon as he rounded the corner, he saw Argos's heels disappear into an alleyway leading back to the orphanage. His stomach twisted sickeningly. That assassin had been talking to Daphne yesterday. What if she was his target?

The knight closed his eyes and recalled his past training in school.

* * *

_Three years ago_

"Listen up, boys!" Chivalry Captain Herman half-shouted. "There'll be a time when you fight assassins and the like. Cowardly lot, they are. And being pampered infants who're still wet from your mothers' breast milk, you won't stand a chance against them as you are right now!" He began pacing up and down the ranks of the young swordsmen.

Reinbach stood unflinching amongst the ranks of other prospective knights. It had hardly been a few months since he was promoted to a swordsman at the young age of fifteen. He wanted to become a knight as soon as possible; he would endure any training as long as it brought him to that goal.

"Assassins and rogues are a tricky bunch," Herman continued. "Don't expect them to fight fairly; they're trained to use sneak attacks, ambushes, and dirty tricks to win." He stopped pacing to rap a dozing swordsman in the back of the head.

"Ow!" the youth exclaimed. Reinbach recognized him as one of the newer recruits.

"So what options do you have as swordsmen to counter their skullduggery?" Herman asked. "Not that I expect you to know this, because you're all prepubescent little children who haven't even grown hair yet." He didn't specify what kind of hair. A couple of swordsmen sniggered, but Herman allowed this to pass.

"To endure their attacks!" the man said. "But of course, if by any chance, one of you were to face off against an assassin, you'd be dead before you could run home crying to your mothers." Some of the swordsmen murmured disconcertedly. It didn't sound like a very viable solution.

"The key to winning against an assassin or a rogue is defense," Herman continued. "And before you can start building reflexes needed to counter their attacks, you need to develop a sense of receiving attacks." Herman paused, tilting his head slightly as if he heard something very faint.

"The second key to victory against them," he said, "is to develop a sense of where they are at ALL times. Assassins and rogues have the uncanny ability to disappear from your sight even when they're right in front of you, which means they can initiate an attack while completely invisible." This time, a louder murmur, one of disbelief, rustled through the swordsmen ranks.

"Which is why you need to start working on developing your other senses in order to catch a cloaked assassin. For today's exercise, we'll be dividing you up in pairs." He waved over a pair of knights standing at attention in front of the swordsmen. Between them sat a barrel full of wooden training sticks and long thin strips of white cloth.

"You and your partner will take turns trying to hit the other," Herman shouted to the swordsmen. "But the catch is that both of you will be blindfolded, and tied together by the ankle. No hitting below the belt now, boys. Not as if you had anything down there worth saving anyways."

* * *

_Morroc Slums, Present_

Reinbach cursed and sprinted towards the orphanage. There was only a low chance that the assassin was not headed there, but he wasn't willing to take the chance and risk Daphne's life like this. He picked up his pace, urging his legs to move faster. If there was anything he learned from that particular training session with Chivalry Captain Herman, it was that assassins don't waste time while cloaked from sight.

* * *

_Ten minutes earlier_

"There's no time," Spider ushered, panting heavily. "The starling's life is already at stake." Grant stiffened, then nodded business-like.

"In my house," the assassin cross said. "There are some fireworks that I've explained to my partner in ahead of time. We need to light the red one."

"What does that do?" the paladin asked.

"It's the signal for staging her assassination. Someone hired a stalker as a fail-safe to carry out my mission in the case my partner or I failed. If the timing is off even slightly, the whole plan will fall to bits – "

"Wait what?!"

"I was hired to take out the starling," Spider said. "But now's not the time for that!"

Grant clamped a gloved hand on the other man's shoulder and turned him around to face him. Spider nearly gagged from the rushing nausea.

"Quint. You know very well who the starling is," he said. "You know what will happen if she dies."

"Like I said," Spider gasped exasperatedly. "Now's not the time for this! She could die any minute!"

They stared at each other for a moment.

"Trust me," Spider added. "Never for a minute I considered following those orders." He received a sickening lurch in his stomach as he came to a revelation, and it wasn't from the lingering poison. "Wait a minute," he said. "Weren't you hired by the Pope to take Daphne back to Prontera on charges for treason against the Crown?"

"Yes, well I wasn't planning on following –" the paladin cut his sentence short. He suddenly found himself in a situation very similar to Spider's.

"I'll trust you," he said finally, after a pause. "But you owe me an explanation."

"I'll tell you everything as soon as I can," Spider said. "Help me inside."

"Is something wrong with you?" Grant asked.

"Poison." He waved away Grant's worried expression. "It's only temporary, I'll live." Grant led Spider to the entrance of his house, where the assassin cross unlocked the door.

There was an small open wooden crate near the front door, half-filled with fireworks. Spider reached upwards to the mantle where a single firework was placed, but his fingers, still groggy from the after-effects of the poison, knocked the firework into the wooden crate.

"Uh... shit," he cursed.

"What is it?"

"That was the last red one," he said.

"Well then just pick up the one with the..." the paladin's voice faded away as he looked into the wooden crate. All of them looked exactly the same, with green wrappers.

"Shit!" Grant echoed. He grabbed a handful of fireworks at the top. "It should be one of these," he said.

The two of them stared down into Grant's open hand. There were five to choose from.

"What kind of person makes red fireworks with green wrappers?!" Grant growled.

"Don't ask me!" Spider said. "I bought them off some crazy alchemist girl!"

"We don't have a choice," Grant said. "We have to light all of them, but only fire the one with the red sparks coming out."

"No choice," Spider agreed. He pulled out a small wooden matchbox from his pocket. "Here." He took four of the fireworks from the paladin and gave him the matchbox.

Grant lit the fuse of the firework, and then walked outside to prop it up skywards. They watched anxiously, waiting for the spark on the fuse to reach the firework. Green smoke poured out of the base.

"Wrong one!" Spider shouted.

Grant slammed his shield downward on the firework just as an ear-splitting _BANG_ erupted into the street. Emerald green sparks shot out across the ground from under his shield. He lifted it his shield; there was a smoldering dent in the center.

"Next!" Grant called. Spider tossed another firework at him. He reached for another match, then cursed loudly.

"What!?"

"We have one match left!"

"DAMN!" Spider said. "We'll have to light all of them at once!"

Grant stared at the assassin cross.

"Are you crazy?" he asked incredulously.

"We don't have a choice!" He rolled the rest of the fireworks to Grant. The paladin swallowed nervously, and then lit all of the fuses in one swipe.

"Here goes..." The sparks crawled up the fuses.

Three green plumes of smoke and one red plume poured out of the firecrackers. As quickly as he could, Grant knocked the green firecrackers sideways, where they shot along the ground erratically. Three simultaneous explosions shook the alleyway. The red firecracker jetted into the air, where it erupted into a red shower above them.

"That was a little low," Grant commented.

"It should be fine," said Spider. He injected a needle full of clear antidote into his thigh. Almost immediately, his nausea disappeared. It looked like Colette hadn't been lying about the type of poison after all. "We're going to be running."

"To the starling's location?"

"She should be working at an orphanage right now, but right now, I'm not particularly worried about her; it's my partner that I'm worried about." Spider began running to the town square, with Grant following behind him.

"Why is that?"

"We're staging her assassination, so she'll appear to be dead. The other hitman the client hired wouldn't bother a person who she thinks to be dead."

"She?" Grant shot Spider a glance. They reached the main street leading to the town square.

"Instead, she'll try to kill my partner, after he pretends to kill the starling."

"Your partner? But isn't he supposed to carry out the same mission as you?"

"Cutting tail," Spider explained. "That guy is actually Daphne's half brother. There are certain political consequences if his body is left at the scene of the murder."

The paladin's eyes narrowed. "So that's how it is... So who is the client?"

"I thought it was the Pope," Spider said, "after you sent that letter. But weren't you ordered by the Pope to bring Daphne to Prontera? Why would anyone order her assassination, and then send out a warrant for her arrest?"

"It doesn't make any sense," Grant said.

"It doesn't," Spider agreed. "But we don't have time to worry about that right now. We're counting on my partner to carry out the plan before the other hitman interferes."

* * *

_Morroc Orphanage_

"Hmm? What's this?" Daphne picked up the white towel hanging from the chair in the corner of the main room. She brought it to her face and sniffed lightly. It had a faint pleasant, musky scent. Briefly, she recalled Kristoph draping a towel around his shoulders as he walked across the main room earlier that day.

"This towel... it's Kristoph's..." she murmured under her breath, blushing despite being alone. She turned and glanced at Rachel, who happened to have fallen asleep on the faded and worn couch at the far end of the main room. Mrs. Reeves would stay around for a while to watch her... Daphne even had her wand today; walking about the night-time streets of Morroc wouldn't be a problem.

_Alright,_ she thought. _I'll go out and return this to him._

Silently, she snuck out of the orphanage and locked the door behind her. She paused for a moment to mutter a minor incantation. A small ball of fire ignited in the air in front of her, hovering merrily, casting a bright glow around her. Normally, she would try to stay as hidden as possible while traversing the streets of Morroc, but this time she had her wand.

"DAPHNE!" someone shouted from behind the corner of the alleyway.

"Kristoph?" she asked. The knight rounded the corner, out of breath.

"Oh thank goodness," he panted. "You're still unhurt."

"Well of course," Daphne said. "I was on my way to – "

A cold and alien feeling of something sharp entering her lower back under her ribs cut her sentence short. The floating fireball fluttered and died completely. The last thing she saw before losing her vision was Reinbach's shocked face.


	8. Necessity of Duty

* * *

It's been what, a couple of months since I last updated? :(

Well here it is at last! Sorry for making you guys wait so long...

* * *

_Prontera Royal Academy Dormitory, 4 years prior_

Thirteen year old Daphne Trenton paced back and forth angrily in her luxuriously furnished room, her silk lavender dress rustling as she walked.  
"UGH!" she fumed angrily, tugging at her long blonde tresses. "Who does that Kristoph think he is, to talk to me like that!?"

A pair of female attendants near the wall glanced nervously at each other for a brief moment, but said nothing at the princess's outburst.

"You," Daphne spun and pointed to one of the attendants. "Fetch me a glass of milk."

"Right away, Princess," the attendant said. She left the room silently. Daphne pointed to the other attendant.

"Bring me a pastry from the bakery," she demanded.

"Of course, Princess," the woman said. Without another word, she followed the first attendant out of the room. No sooner had the two attendants left, Daphne rushed to the door and locked it.

It wasn't as if the young princess wanted milk and pastries; she simply wanted to be alone for a while. Having attendants follow her around was stifling, and more than half the time, she felt that she was being watched rather than being served. Daphne dropped herself onto her bed, sinking into the luxurious blankets, and crossed her arms. Oh, when she got her hands on that idiot Kristoph, she'd –

"So you're a princess, are you?" a voice asked from the window behind her. Daphne jumped up from her bed and shrieked, then whirled around to face the intruder. A young boy with short blonde hair dangled from the balcony above her window.

"Oh, it's the idiot boy," Daphne harrumphed, and turned her face away. "I'm not talking to you. A princess won't lower herself to that level."

"Sticks and stones, Daffers," Kristoph responded. He began balancing on the ivory hand-rail of the balcony.

"Well how is it?" Daphne asked. "To be in the dignified presence of a princess – HEY THAT'S DANGEROUS!"

"Ooooh, is the princess worried about me?" Kristoph taunted. "I thought you weren't talking to me."

"I'm ORDERING you to stop doing that at once!"

Kristoph made a funny face at her. "Why don't you come here and make me?"

Daphne stepped backwards from the balcony.  
"You idiot! What if you fall?"

"Scared?" Kristoph asked.

Daphne's brief moment of concern quickly turned into indignation and she balled her fists at her hips angrily. She had been strictly ordered by her father to stay away from windows because potential snipers might attempt to assassinate her, but if the princess had her way, she'd stand outside on the balcony as much as she wanted.

"I'll show you!" she huffed. Daphne made her way to the balcony outside, then placed a foot on the hand-rail.

"H-hey!" Kristoph objected. "It really is dangerous!" He jumped off the hand-rail into the balcony.

Ignoring him, Daphne hoisted herself up into a stand on top of the hand-rail. A sudden rush of elation coursed through her, making her heart beat fast.

"Well?" she asked. "How do you like me now?"

"I get it, I get it!" Kristoph said hurriedly. "You're not a coward, so get off that hand-rail!"

But Daphne, drunk off of the feeling of vertigo and excitement, began to walk along the balcony hand-rail with her arms spread out. An urgent rattling inside on the door handle of the room alerted the two of the return of Daphne's attendants. Kristoph gasped and spun around to look inside.

"Princess! Please open the door! Princess!" the muffled voice of the female attendant said through the door.

"Daphne!" Kristoph whispered urgently.

"Alright, fine," the young girl consented. "Be grateful that I'm in a forgiving mood right now."

She knelt to jump onto the balcony, but suddenly lost her balance. Her heart skipped a beat, and the world around her slowly lurched away.

"Huh?" she said.

"DAPHNE!" Kristoph shouted. He dashed towards the balcony and reached out to grab her outstretched hand.

* * *

_Morroc Slums, Nightfall_

Several things happened at once.

Reinbach rushed forward, reaching for Daphne's outstretched hand. Behind her, a red-haired female stalker materialized into sight and pulled out a sucsamad from Daphne's back to block an attack from Argos, who in turn, materialized into sight behind her. By a matter of inches, Reinbach managed to catch Daphne's hand with his own before she could collapse to the ground.

"Tsk!" Argos said. He jumped backwards and slid away from the stalker, then shifted into his customary cross-armed attack stance, never taking his scowling gaze off Colette. "Who are you?" he demanded.

Colette twirled the sucsamad between her fingers and wound a strand of red hair around her pinky. "My my," she said. "Asking a lady her name without introducing yourself first, _Richard_-dear?"

Argos made no effort to correct himself, only glaring back at Colette. _My best bet is to catch her off guard with an unexpected attack,_ he thought. _But catching a stalker off guard...It'll be easier to drop the moon!_

Cradling Daphne's unmoving body in one arm, Reinbach began to shake Daphne gently, yet urgently. "Daphne! Wake up! Please!" Her body slowly began to grow cold. "No..." He stared in shock as life stole away from her body.

_I don't have a choice_, Argos thought. _It's do-or-die!_ In another daring gamble, he sprinted forward as fast as he could to Colette, carrying his katars low. Just as he entered attacking range from the stalker, Argos raised his katars upwards in a rising slash. Colette merely danced around the attack.

"So aggressive," she whispered into his ear from behind, brushing his cheek with her hand. Snarling, Argos spun around wildly to attack, but she was already out of arms reach.

"You must really want to die," Argos said, as an irritated tic formed in his eyebrow.

"You're so boring," Colette sighed, examining her cherry-red painted nails. "At least Quint played along with me."

A twinge of uneasiness grew in the young assassin's stomach. _What happened to Spider? Why did she refer to him in the past tense?_

"What have you done with him?" he demanded. He tightened his grip on his icicle katars to the point that his hands shook.

"Oh I don't know," she said airily. "I mean, I only poisoned him a little bit. He should still be where I left him, right?"

"That dagger," Argos's voice shook slightly. "Why do you have his sucsamad!?"

The corners of Colette's lips curled upward. She remained silent.

Argos raised his stance again, unable to force his arms to keep from trembling. Cursing himself, he bit hard on his lip, and tasted the salty, metallic tang of blood blossoming on his tongue. _Calm down,_ he told himself. _Calm down, calm down, calm down... SHIT!_ He noticed it too late.

"Where are you looking?" Colette asked from behind him. She had managed to sneak up behind him again, this time right from under his nose.

"WHAT THE – " he spun around to attack at her, not even realizing that his hands were empty.

"Missing something?" she taunted, dangling a pair of icicle katars from two fingers. She let them fall to the ground.

He couldn't help himself. He glanced down at his empty hands. _SHIT! YOU IDIOT, DON'T LOOK AWAY!_

"How cute," Colette said in his ear behind him. "But I'm bored of you now." She raised Spider's sucsamad up, ready to stab downward.

"You're in the way," Reinbach muttered roughly. He knocked Argos aside one-handedly with brutal strength, out of harm's way. The assassin slammed into the wall and coughed flecks of blood.

"...You should wait your turn, knight boy," the stalker said, looking from Argos's dazed form to Reinbach.

"Shut up, you whore." His muscles tightened, his jaws were clenched. "Because of you..."

"Hmm? Angry because I killed your lover?"

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!" Reinbach roared. He raised his zephyrus and thrust downward at Colette's abdomen. The stalker twisted out of the way, but her eyes widened with shock when the zigzag spear point impacted into the dusty street, forming a smoking crater.

"What... what the hell?" Argos whispered hoarsely. "What the hell was that?!"

"Berserk?!" Colette exclaimed. She gritted her teeth and jump-kicked the shaft of the zephyrus out of Reinbach's hands. This didn't seem to impede Reinbach, as the absence of the spear's weight granted him explosively fast punches that he wasted no time aiming towards Colette.

"Aaagh!" she screamed. In a desperate effort to get away, she backflipped away from Reinbach, flinging sand into the knight's eyes as she spun. Reinbach bellowed in irritation and swing his fists wildly. Using this chance, Colette made her way up to the rooftops of the nearest building and knelt on the tile, holding her right arm with her left.

"Having some trouble there?" Spider asked from not far behind her.

"You!" she gasped. "You're supposed to be poisoned!"

"Yet here I am," Spider said, as if being poisoned was simply a minor inconvenience. He shook his head from side to side. "I can't call myself an assassin cross if I couldn't deal with a little poison."

At the street below, Grant rammed his shield into the rampaging Reinbach, who, seconds before, managed to punch a crater into the nearest building wall. The blow was enough to shake the knight to his senses.

"Reinbach! Snap out of it!" shouted the paladin. The knight stopped, breathing heavily as his frenzy came to a halt.

"Captain Graves," he panted, before collapsing to the ground. "That stalker... Daphne got..."

Quickly, Grant made his way to Daphne's body, which had been carefully set next to the wall, not far from Argos. The young assassin was staring blankly at Reinbach.

"I'll tell you something interesting, sweet-cheeks," Spider said to Colette on the rooftops above. "It's true that Quint Yaxely only has a bounty of two and a half million." He reached into his cloak and pulled out an eerily smiling mask. Colette's eyes widened in recognition. "But you remember of course; the assassin cross Spider also has a bounty of two and a half million. Two bounties, both of which are two and a half million... I'm sure you know what that adds up to. It doesn't take a genius." He placed the mask on his face. "Now, what were you saying earlier about your paltry bounty of three million?"

Colette stood up on her feet, not letting go of her right arm. Spider's sucsamad hung limply in her hand.

"It looks like I overstepped my bounds," she said, smiling resignedly. "I managed to complete my mission, but I know when I have the lower hand and when to retreat."

"So then," Spider said. "How about giving back my dagger?"

"But if I do that, I won't have anything to remember you by," Colette said, clipping the sucsamad onto her belt. "Ciao!" She blew him a kiss, then dove out of sight by jumping into the dark shadows of the alley below. Spider stared at the alley where the stalker disappeared into for a moment, then let out a sigh of relief.

"I don't think I would have been ready for another fight so soon after recovering from the poison," he called to Grant. "How is she?" He jumped into the street below and helped Argos to his feet.

"Not looking good," Grant replied grimly. His left hand was hovering steadily over Daphne's back wound, pale blue light emanating from it, while his right slowly thumbed rosary beads. "I can use basic healing magic, but it'll take a priest to cure these wounds."

"What if we had shining plant extract?" Spider asked.

"You do? That'll help."

Spider looked over to Argos and jerked his head towards the entrance of the orphanage. Without a word, Argos nodded and left to find the shining plant given to Daphne.

Reinbach stirred, then forced himself up from the ground.

"She'll live?" he rasped hoarsely.

"Easy there," Spider said. "You're in no condition to worry about others." He walked over to the knight and helped him to his feet.

"Wh- who are you?" Reinbach asked.

"He's helping us," Grant said. "It's okay, we can trust him."

Ever so slowly, the knife wound in Daphne's back grew smaller under the light of Grant's healing magic. The blonde knight stumbled towards Grant and Daphne and knelt down next to them. He watched them silently for a minute.

"He's taking a while," Spider said, referring to Argos. "I'll go help him find that shining plant." The assassin cross followed his partner into the orphanage.

"I'm sorry," Reinbach said to his captain. "I failed to protect the princess. As soon as I believed her to be dead, I went berserk. I can't even do anything to help her wound –"

"You're a knight," Grant said. "Not a crusader or a paladin. Leave the healing department to me."

The young man fell silent but his fists and teeth were clenched with anxiety.

"What can I do to help?" he asked finally.

"Go inside and meditate about your actions," Grant said.

"Sir?"

"Now." There was a firmness in his voice that allowed no room for argument. Nodding, Reinbach stood up and walked into the orphanage as Spider and Argos walked out. The former was holding a potted shining plant.

"Here it is," Spider said, holding it out to the paladin.

"Thanks. Put it on the ground next to me."

"Sure thing."

The pale blue light flickered gently as the paladin stripped a leaf from the shining plant. He placed it over Daphne's stab wound and continued his ministrations.

"You know, you can try to act as if everything's fine and dandy," Grant said. "But let's face it. The two of you will have wave after wave of assassins after your heads for what we've pulled today."

"Well, we'll burn that bridge when we get there," Spider said.

"They'll be sending other assassin crosses too." The paladin began listing off names. "Remiel, Ghost, Raal – "

"They'll have to find us first," Spider shrugged. "Remiel is a nutcase. As long as I don't fight him one on one, I'm not too worried. Ghost doesn't specialize in tracking and chasing, and Raal is all about her flashy tricks; she's nothing special."

"Damn it, Quint! You've royally pissed off the assassins guild leader! Do you realize who you're up against?" Argos fidgeted at the mention of the assassins guild leader.

Spider looked at the paladin with his head slightly tilted. "Well Grant, of course I do. But considering the alternative, can you blame me? It was either get on his bad side or..." He jerked his head towards Daphne's unconcious body. "Kill the starling."

"At the very least, start thinking of a plan!"

"Let's not make any hasty conclusions here," Spider said. "If Daphne dies, then worrying about a handful of assassin crosses will be the least of our problems."

* * *

_Yuno Academy, the next morning_

"Some of the ancient religions and doctrines placed a heavy emphasis on the idea of karma," Tabby Williams said, pacing side to side in front of a chalkboard. "And even to this day, there are still some cultures that believe in the immediate cause and effect that each action has. For each good deed one performs, an equally good effect one will experience. For each bad deed, for each crime, one will suffer an effect with an equal amount of weight. Nowadays, many established theorists and thinkers regard the idea of karma as an outdated system in which ancient cultures dogmatically taught to their youths to reinforce moral fiber." She paused to take a drink of the hot tea from the mug at her desk.

"Who is to say that there exists a universal set of morals?" the professor went on. "Clearly, a person raised in Morroc will have a different set of ethics than a person raised in Prontera, or a person raised in Geffen. Is one person morally _better _than the others? Certainly, we feel inclined to say that the widely accepted faith of the Prontera Church _must_ be right because more people are involved with it, but looking at things in the bigger picture, that isn't a legitimate reason at all. What if suddenly, a massive crisis struck Prontera and reduced the amount of the Church followers there to five percent. Does it mean suddenly, the school of science or magicks is morally right? No, of course not."

As the minute hand of the clock ticked closer and closer to the twelve, the students in the classroom began to restlessly fidget and stealthily place their notes and texts into their bags.

"Which brings us back to the notion of karma and what we'll be talking about tomorrow's lecture, Goodman's theory of causal conservation, not to be confused with the Law of Conservation," she continued over the rustling of students packing and standing up. "See you all next lecture!"

The students began packing their belongings in earnest now, chatting with their friends and neighbors while a couple of students hurried to the front of the class to ask their professor questions.

"Professor Williams!" a female student called. She rushed to the desk, adjusting her coke-bottle glasses.

"Ah!" Tabby smiled. "Miss Cook, was it? How did your attempt go last night!"

The student flushed excitedly.

"I- I did it! I managed to create a homunculus!" The students in earshot suddenly turned their attention to the young alchemist and interested murmurs fluttered along the classroom.

"Are you serious?!"

"Caroline did? Cooky Caroline?"

"I'm so jealous..."

"Haha, you're not even an alchemist, you're a sage."

Caroline hoisted her bookbag onto the desk and pulled out a quivering, semi-translucent peach glob of _something_. It was hard to tell whether it was a solid or a liquid. Nursed inside the gooey substance, a dark round ball with eyes peered up at the people huddled around the desk.

"Oooh, there it is! It's a vanilmirth type!" another alchemist student exclaimed. Tabby used this opportunity to explain more to the students.

"One of the reasons why there are still a lot of unknown territory regarding homunculi is because of the quite recent Pronteran Church ruling regarding what Biochemists and Alchemists can and can't research. Pope Hibram's flexible interpretations of the Holy Teachings allows us to pour more funding into research regarding homunculi."

But most of the students seemed more interested in the vanilmirth rather than the political influence of the church. A student poking at the homunculus recoiled quickly when it reached out with a gelatinous tendril and poked back.

"Ahh! What are you doing to Jello?" Caroline asked.

"That's weird," the student observed, examining his fingers. "It doesn't leave any residue behind. Professor! Shouldn't it leave at least a little?"

"Well," Tabby said. "Maybe when one of you becomes a well-learned biochemist, you can find out. We still don't know everything about homunculus yet after all."

"Haha, that's right," another student said to his friend as he walked to the door. "Thanks to the Pope, we can learn about all the interesting stuff in school now."

"Honestly, I don't see what all the religion fuss is all about," his friend replied. "All this time we've been warned not to create artificial life like it's some sort of crime; glad that things are different now..." his voice faded as the two walked to their next class.

_Thanks to the Pope, huh?_ Tabby's brows furrowed deeply with thought. _If only they knew what his real intentions were..._

* * *

_Prontera Royal Academy Grounds, Four years prior_

A young black-haired teen sprinted as fast as he could towards the dormitory building. With a final leap, he dove forward and caught Daphne's body with his arms; the two of them rolled and crashed into the bushes along the white marble wall.

"Ghhh!" he grunted in pain, biting his lip so hard that blood dribbled down his chin. Both of his arms were dislocated. Beneath him, Daphne trembled uncontrollably, eyes screwed shut in terror.

The teen staggered to his feet. His sense of balance was skewed as both of his arms hung uselessly at his sides.

"Hey you," he said to Daphne. "Girl. Push my arms back into place." His red-ember eyes were clouded with pain.

But the blonde girl lay still in the bushes in shock. The fourteen year old Richard snorted.

"Fat lot of help you are," he said, voice dripping with sarcasm. "If you're just going to lay there uselessly, then I'm leaving. Try not to fall out of any more balconies." He turned and left.

"Daphne!" Kristoph shouted from above, climbing down from balcony to balcony, with the same method he used to first enter Daphne's room. He landed softly onto the grass. "Hey, are you okay?" He grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her out of her daze. "Who was that guy?"

Without warning, Daphne threw her arms around Kristoph.

"Hey!" he yelped.

"I was so scared!" she whispered.

"Er... yes well... it's time for you to go back to your room," Kristoph said awkwardly. He tried to stand up but Daphne wouldn't let go of him.

"Princess Daphne!" What looked to be a small army of servants and royal attendants rushed to the princess and shoved Kristoph aside. "Are you unhurt?" Daphne quickly regained her composure and stood up, smoothing out her dress.

"I'm fine," she said. "I will be needing a change in clothes."

"Right away, princess." Two of her attendants ushered her away, while a heavy hand clamped onto Kristoph's shoulder.

"You," a stern voice growled, allowing room for no defiance. "You're coming with us."

* * *

_Morroc Orphanage, Morning_

Daphne slowly opened her eyes. For a moment, she couldn't recognize her surroundings or why she was laying down in a bed or why she had a terrible headache.

_This... is the orphanage,_ she realized slowly, staring at the increasingly familiar cracked ceiling. It appeared to be one of the childrens' rooms so where was the orphan who originally slept in here staying? She made an attempt to sit up, but a heavy pain in her lower back flared sharply. Daphne couldn't help but cry out softly.

_Oh that's right,_ she recalled. _I think I was stabbed...exactly who was it?_ With a sigh, she resigned herself to lay back down.

In the corner of the darkened room, Reinbach sat hunched over, nodding off between slumber and conciousness. Sensing that Daphne was awake, he rubbed his eyes and sat up straight.

"Oh... you're awake, Daphne?" he mumbled.

"Yes," she said. The pain in her lower back was replaced by a dull throbbing ache. "What happened to me?"

"A stalker tried to assassinate you," he said. "She seemed to be about twenty years old, red haired. Do you know anyone like that?"

"...No, I don't." The two of them fell silent, but Daphne felt that Reinbach was having trouble saying something he didn't want to say. "What is it?" she asked.

After a long pause, the young knight opened his mouth to talk but was interrupted by footsteps in the hallway outside.

"You're awake Princess Daphne," Grant stated, rather than asked. "I apologize for intruding so soon after you have recovered from your wound, but we must have you listen to our plans for the immediate future."

"That's fine," Daphne said. "You must have been the one who healed my injury after all." Reinbach looked away, gritting his teeth. "Is something wrong, Kristoph?" she inquired.

"It's nothing," he replied tersely, holding out his hand to help her out of bed. Gingerly, Daphne sat up and with Reinbach's help, managed to stand. The two of them followed Grant to the lobby of the orphanage. Two other men were waiting for them.

"Heh," Spider chuckled. "Is the sleeping beauty finally awake?"

Daphne involuntarily took a step away from the assassin cross.

"It looks like the two of you got off to a bad start," Grant explained to Daphne. "This man is my eyes and ears in Morroc. I would trust him with my life."

"Hey," Spider protested. "Eyes and ears? At least make me sound cooler in front of the Princess, yeah?" He bowed his head to the princess. "Quint Yaxely at your service. This kid over here is my junior partner, Argos." He pointed his thumb behind him to Argos, who was leaning against the far wall with his arms crossed. "But you've already met your half-brother, haven't you, Princess?"

"Half-brother?" Reinbach asked, eyes widening. "I-I see..."

"It looks like not all of us are on the same page," the assassin cross continued. "So why don't we start off by familiarizing ourselves with one another?" He turned his head around and stared at Argos.

"...What?" Argos demanded.

"You can start by walking closer to the center... that's it. No, no need for you to introduce yourself to the Princess, you've already met her..."

Daphne blinked bemusedly at Spider.

"No, you don't need to introduce yourself to Chevalier Captain Grant Graves either," Spider went on, enjoying his little game. "And if you need to introduce yourself to me, then there's a _minor_ communication problem between us partners."

There was a long, awkward pause.

"Go on," Spider grinned evilly. "Shake his hand."

Grant pushed Reinbach forward, shaking his head while looking amused. The two of them shook hands for the briefest of moments.

"Reinbach," the knight muttered.

"Argos," the assassin replied.

"Wait," Reinbach said, looking at Spider. "So who are you?"

"Alrighty!" Spider said, clapping his hands together. "We're done with introductions."

"Huh?!"exclaimed Argos. He looked slightly betrayed.

"It's planning time," Grant stated. "We don't have forever to prepare for the upcoming week."

"Among one of the things we don't know," Spider continued. "Is whether or not the enemy knows the Princess is dead or alive. The stalker they hired couldn't confirm her kill. But we don't want to be in a situation where they can find out. It's never too safe." He stood up from his chair and pointed his finger at Daphne. "Basically, you are going into hiding as soon as possible, and we are going to give the illusion of your death."

"I don't like the sound of this," Daphne said.

"It's unpleasant, but necessary, Princess," said Spider. "In order to prevent any further assassination attempts, first we must stage your death. When word spreads, war will be triggered. Your existance will be revealed to the general public, and at that moment, you will appear at Prontera with the ability to stop the war and seize power from the Pope."

"I refuse to accept this!" she snapped, pointing at Argos. "Get him to do it instead! I am needed at this orphanage!"

"And you are needed by Prontera!" Grant almost shouted. "You MUST accept it! Please open your eyes to the truth!"

"I told you this before," Argos said. "The general public will never accept an illegitimate half-breed like me as their ruler."

Daphne squeezed her eyes shut and rubbed her temples. "Kristoph! You say something too!"

Reinbach looked away, unable to look her in the eyes. "As much as I would like for your happiness, I agree with them."

"Even you, Kristoph?"

A soft sound near the entrance of the hallway alerted them to someone's presence. Argos, Spider, Reinbach and Grant immediately reached for their weapons, but stopped when they noticed a young auburn haired child.

"Momma?" she mumbled sleepily. "Why is everyone so angry?"

Daphne stood up and rushed over to the young child.

"Hush now," she whispered, hugging her and rubbing her head. "It's okay, Rachel, it's going to be fine. It's nothing to be worried about."

"Momma... your shirt is wet."

"Princess!" Grant said urgently. "Your wound!"

"I said before," Daphne glared at the paladin, standing up to face him. A wave of dizziness assaulted her, but she forced herself to stand still. "I will not leave these children alone!" Blood silently dripped to the floor.

Reinbach had to admire her. She appeared dead on her feet but here she was, in a battle of wills against four men who all wanted her to leave the orphanage.

"Well at least listen to what we have to offer," the knight said quietly. "I know that child is important to you; if you agree to come with us, then she can come along too. And this orphanage has Mrs. Reeves, who somehow managed to hold things together, despite how frail she is. It has Aloys; despite his lack of capability, has only worked for the good of the orphans here."

"I-it's... it's just..." Daphne bit her trembling lip. "I have people who need me here!"

"Yes, well you've said that already," Spider sighed. "And there are people who –"

"It's not that!" she interrupted. "All my life, I've been pampered, spoiled, had things handed to me... I've been treated like a princess! I couldn't do anything without having aides constantly following me, or servants constantly asking me if I needed anything..."

"Well in case you haven't noticed," Argos muttered under his breath. "You _are_ a princess."

"For the first time in my life," she went on. "I felt like I actually made a difference, I felt needed... with my own two hands, I saved these childrens' hearts!"

"Then all the more reason to go with us," Reinbach said, holding her shoulders. "Not as Princess Daphne, but as a guardian to these children. You have a responsibility as a caretaker right? Then for the purpose of creating a tomorrow where these children can live safely... you should understand that and come with us."

For a long while, Daphne seemed to be struggling with some sort of internal conflict. At last, she nodded.

"Fine," she said. "But this is only temporary, understand?"

"I'm glad that you've agreed, Princess," Grant smiled. "Don't worry, I swear that from now on, things will look up."

"But... how do you expect me to travel with this wound?"

"Do you think we've just been sitting here all night without thinking of a plan?" Spider said. "Who do you take me for?'


	9. The Best Laid Plans

This time around, I really wanted to release a new chapter not long after the one before. But the words didn't come out well onto the computer screen! I guess that's to be expected after taking such a huge break from writing.

* * *

_Morroc Orphanage, Morning_

"And so, children," Daphne said to the orphans gathered on the floor of the dining room. "I'll be leaving for a little while. I have something to take care of."

"B... but," one black haired orphan boy said. "How long will you be gone?"

"I don't know, Henry," she admitted. "As long as it takes. Once I'm finished, I'll be back as soon as I can."

The orphans looked at each other confusedly. They looked a little lost.

"But why?" another child said.

Daphne paused, searching for the right words. She doubted that the orphans would be able to understand the current political complication that only she would be able to unravel.

"So that all of you can live happily in the future!" she smiled simply.

The orphans seemed to understand this, but none of them seemed too thrilled. Daphne knew, if she had said those words on her first day working at the orphanage, she would not have understood the generally disappointed reaction from the children. But after having stayed at the orphanage for a few days, she was beginning to understand how these children thought. They weren't thinking about the future. They were thinking about the present; about surviving for the rest of the day. Promises that were yet to come didn't hold much weight if these children could be dead the next day.

"How about we try something fun?" Daphne said, kneeling down. "Why don't we take turns telling everyone what they want to be when they grow up?"

As expected, she was greeted with a general silence. _If only they had a little nudge..._

"I... I want to be a teacher when I grow up!" Rachel said loudly, standing up suddenly. Her fists were balled at her sides and she glared at the other children as if daring them to challenge those words. She pointed at Henry, who recoiled slightly. "What about you?"

"U-uh... I dunno," he mumbled. "I'm just worried about what I'll eat today..."

"Then be a chef!" she said. "That way you can make your own food!" Henry seemed surprised by this new concept. Rachel pointed to a girl her own age who was holding a tattered teddy bear with an X for its mouth.

"What about you?"

The girl hugged her teddy bear tighter.

"...I want to make dresses," she said quietly, daring to say those words. One by one, the orphans took turns sharing their hidden aspirations. Dreams long forgotten and squashed were forced out from the dredges of their memories, trickling out slowly and painfully.

Leaning against the far wall of the dining room with his arms crossed, Argos watched impassively as the orphans shared their forgotten hopes. His mouth twitched with irritation.

"Why don't you join in?" Spider asked quietly. Argos glared at his senior partner.

"Are you kidding?" he said. "What's the point of an assassin having a dream?"

"Even you have one, right? What was it... becoming an assassin cross so you can kill a certain man."

Argos snorted.

"Sure," he said. "That'll go great with the kids; they can related to that."

Spider chuckled quietly.

"I'm kidding, sport. You need to lighten up."

* * *

_Pronteran Embassy _

Elsewehere in the Pronteran Embassy in Morroc, Chevalier Paladin Graves was telling his small squadron of knights and crusaders his intentions for departure, not unlike the one Daphne told the orphans. They seemed as lost as the children had been, but none of them raised any objections. The general mood seemed almost mutinous, save for Reinbach, standing behind the paladin.

"Sir," Caitlin Margaret saluted. "With all due respect, Daphne Trenton is right under our noses. It would be a simple matter of escorting her by force to the Pope."

"Return to the capital," Grant repeated. "Those will be my final orders for you."

All of the riders understood what "final" meant. For an officer to disobey the Pope's orders meant his position would be immediately stripped the moment the Pope received word.

"I won't ask any of you to come with me," the paladin said. "Neither will I hold it against you. What I'll be doing from now on will have a very high mortality rate."

"What about Reinbach?" Ozworth asked.

"He volunteered to come with me," answered Grant. "Don't worry about him." Behind the paladin, Reinbach looked away, unable to meet the gazes of his fellow knights and crusaders.

"Sir," Weiss said. "It would only be a matter of a simple order; all of us will follow you to death if need be."

"There's a difference between loyalty and throwing away your life," Grant told the crusader. "Don't follow orders blindly and try to look at things with an objective view."

"Reinbach!" another knight said loudly. "Oy! Say something!"

The paladin took off the rosary from his wrist and handed it to Margaret. "Deliver this to my fiance," he said. "She will understand what it means."

"...Is this an order?" the pale-blonde woman asked slowly.

"It's a request," Grant said. "I hope that you will follow it. The next time we meet will probably be on the battlefield, as enemies."

"Hey are you for real?!" Ozworth interjected. "Not too long ago we were traveling as companions!"

Images of the desert sands basking in the fading sun flashed through Reinbach's mind. Riders on pecos, laughing, reminiscing, fighting side by side.

Grant sighed. "Unfortunately, this is the reality of politics, Ozworth. You can say those pretty words, but pretty words won't change reality." The paladin looked somewhat disheartened saying this.

"Kristoph!" Ozworth shouted, facing Reinbach next. "This isn't funny! What happened to convincing Daphne to come with us peacefully?!"

"It's as Sir Graves said," Reinbach said through clenched teeth, looking down. "Pretty words won't change reality."

"WHY DID PERCEUS DIE?" Ozworth roared. "ARE YOU SAYING HE DIED FOR NOTHING?"

"Ozworth!" Weiss clamped his gloved hand on the knight's shoulder. "That's enough."

"I can't accept this," the knight gritted his teeth together. He reached into his bag and pulled out a Zweihander in its sheath and tossed it to Reinbach. "It's Perceus's sword. So you don't forget who he is and what he stood for."

It was a somewhat heavy weight in Reinbach's hands, but the knight took it without complaint and fastened the sheath to his back on a bandoleer. The Zweihander would throw off his balance if he wasn't too careful with his footing.

"Well then," Grant said. "We've idled here long enough." He and Reinbach turned and left for the exit of the embassy.

"There's no need for me to say this, but you should understand anyways," Margaret said to the two. "If we meet in battle don't expect us to hold back."

"We made this decision knowing that," Grant said over his shoulder. "Goodbye." They left the building.

* * *

_Morroc streets_

"Reinbach," the paladin said as he and Reinbach walked along the main street of Morroc. "There's something I think you should know."

"What is it?"

"Remember the time I told you how a weapon conforms to the user?"

"Yes, sir."

"It would be in your best interests if you didn't use that Zephyrus from now on."

"W-what?" Reinbach froze in his tracks.

"I'm serious," Grant said. "Did you not think it was strange when you were able to enter the berserk state? Only lord knight should be capable of doing such a thing."

"Then... how?"

"You recall Alexei Volkov right? He had possession of your Zephyrus for a night."

Reinbach's eyes widened in realization.

"Are you saying... that my Zephyrus conformed to him while he was berserked?"

"And most likely that Zephyrus picked up an impression of the berserk state," Grant nodded. "It's not one hundred percent certain, but it's the only way you could have learned the berserk state, that I know of. Let's continue walking."

"Then," Reinbach went on, striding to catch up to Grant. "I suppose it's a good thing I have Perceus's Zweihander."

"Even then, you need to keep up your guard at all times," the paladin warned. "Just as a weapon conforms to the user, the user conforms to the weapon. Now that you've actually fallen into berserk once, any time you lose control of your emotions, you're vulnerable to falling into it again, regardless of the weapon you are holding."

The two of them reached the town center of Morroc. The Morroc town center was as busy as ever, full of commerce, merchants and civilians. To the east lay the street leading to the suburbs where the orphanage was.

"Sir," Reinbach started. "I believe the only reason why I managed to drive off that stalker last night was because I fell into the berserk state. If I hadn't –"

"That's true," Grant said. "If you hadn't, you and that Argos lad wouldn't be alive right now. But the berserk state isn't an advantage. Especially not for you."

"What do you mean?"

"The thing most important to you is probably... protecting Daphne Trenton," the paladin said. Reinbach looked away awkwardly; Grant was spot on. "But falling into the berserk state won't grant you the power to do that. And on top of that, being berserked means you have explosive strength and speed, but in return, you lose all mind for defense. Remember when you first met Volkov? You couldn't lay a finger on him."

Reinbach remained silent.

"And in your second encounter with him, you were able to injure his shoulder because he was in the berserk state. Do you see now?'

"...Yes," the knight admitted.

"What it basically means is that Volkov doesn't need - no, Volkov is better off fighting you without the berserk state."

"So in other words, the only time I should use the berserk state is when I have absolutely nothing left to lose."

Grant shot a critical look at Reinbach. "You shouldn't be thinking like that, but let's hope that it never comes down to that."

They reached the street leading to the orphanage. A bench near the entrance of the street had been the agreed upon rendezvous point.

"We're supposed to wait for them here," Grant said. He looked around, scanning the crowd around them for faces.

* * *

_Morroc Orphanage_

Spider rummaged through his traveling bag, taking inventory of the supplies he would need while traveling.

"Smokescreen," he muttered. "...Throwing knives... I'm running low on those... poison bottles... antidotes... painkillers... Hey sport."

Argos was busy examining his icicle katars.

"...What?"

"You need anything from the smithy?" he asked. "I'm headed there to pick up some throwing knives."

"Yeah," Argos stood up from his chair. "These icicle katars are about to break. I need them fixed."

"Well we can't do anything about them now," Spider said. "It'll take at least a day for any smith to fix a weapon, and we're supposed to rendezvous in an hour."

"We're supposed to rendezvous right now," Argos corrected. Spider blinked.

"Oh hell. Is that right?"

"Yes. Weren't you minding the time?"

"I was. I just got the meeting time mixed up. Well then, can't be helped. We just have to leave now."

Argos nodded. "Hey, I was wondering," he said.

"Talk while walking," Spider said, standing up. He headed for the door of the orphanage.

"Is it okay to leave Daphne behind like this?"

"Not really. But we don't have a choice. We have to do something about her wound first before we start traveling. Is that what you wanted to ask?"

"No. I wanted to know what... what's the best way to defeat an enemy who attacks faster and harder than you?"

"That's simple," Spider answered. As they passed a fruit stand, an orange mysteriously appeared in his hands. "Retreat and attack from behind when their guard is down."

"Well... what if that's not an option?" the younger assassin asked.

"In your case?" the assassin cross mused. "There's nothing. You'd be dead."

Argos fell silent. He felt that Spider was purposely dancing around the real question he wanted to ask.

"You don't have to worry about enemies out of your league," Spider said. "While we're partners, leave assassin crosses, stalkers, and those types to me."

"What do you do if you're the one facing someone who's stronger and faster than you?"

"I poison myself," Spider said seriously.

"What?"

The older man reached into his bag and pulled out a skull-shaped glass bottle filled with red liquid.

"This poison here is fatal to the normal human," he said. "One sniff of this is potent enough to knock some people unconcious. When I'm in a pinch, I'll drink this poison and –"

"Why would you want to do that?"

"Relax, sport, I'm getting there. Once I drink this poison, or any assassin cross drinks it, for that matter, we have a certain time limit before we're unable to move. In that time period, we're granted an increase in battle performance to the point where our muscles break down."

"What happens after that?"

"We fall unconcious, and wake up after a while. The time period of the boost and the time period of the after-effects vary from person to person. Assassin crosses are able to drink this without dying because of the immunity-building steps we take during training." Spider eyed his junior partner. "Needless to say, if a regular assassin tried this, he would definitely die. That's why," he stopped and ruffled Argos's hair. "You shouldn't get any ideas."

Suddenly, a huge explosion rocked the street they were walking along from a couple of houses down. Thick black smoke billowed skyward from the wreckage of what was formerly a house as rubble rained down on the street. The surviving citizens, too shocked to scream in terror, gaped in silence at the scene of destruction.

"ARGOS!" Spider shouted. "Get away from here!"

"It won't make much of a difference," a woman's voice said somewhere in the midst of the rubble. "I'll end up killing him no matter where he is."

Argos narrowed his eyes in an attempt to focus his eyesight on the woman's figure through the smoke.

"The guild leader is disappointed, Spider," the woman continued. "First you failed to finish the job that your partner couldn't, and then you failed to finish your partner. No amount of reasoning will be an adequate excuse for your actions."

"The Assassins Guild's ranked fourth assassin cross... It's been a while, Raal," Spider greeted. "How pleasant it is to meet you here."

"You and your silver tongue," the female assassin cross said. "You should be careful; the more you charm me, the more I want to blow you up." She stepped out of the smoke.

Raal was a striking, caramel-skinned woman in her late twenties. A red painted dot sat in the center of her forehead and a semi-transparent veil covered the lower half of her face. Her smooth black hair was tied back in a ponytail that reached her lower back.

"Flashy as ever," Spider said. "You were always one for making an entrance with gimmicky tricks."

"I'll take that as a compliment, but unfortunately, I'm not into younger men," she responded. She pulled out a small hand mirror and began applying red eyeshadow on her eyelids. "And you should know very well, most assassin crosses need to have some sort of outlet to release our pent up stress or we'll go crazy." The woman brushed dust and small pieces of rubble from her black uniform.

"Who the hell are you?" Argos demanded.

"Oh my, didn't you hear me?" Raal chided, appraising the assassin with a critical look. "I said I'm not interested in younger men." She began painting her nails next, examining the cherry red finish. "I like your eyes, but I can't say the same for your manners. If you were listening earlier, you would have heard. I'm the fourth strongest assassin cross of the Assassins Guild. You don't have to introduce yourself though. A little brat like you isn't worth remembering."

Within the blink of an eye, Argos shifted into an attacking stance, gripping his Drill Katars tightly. Spider held out his hand, blocking his junior partner from rushing forward.

"Don't think you can take her by yourself, sport," he said. "She's an assassin cross like I am. Even I'll have some trouble facing her."

"It's nice to know I'm held in high regard," Raal said, carefully placing her nail polish back into her hip-sack. "But let's cut the chit-chat here and get on with it, shall we?"

Without even grabbing the Loki's Nail katars that hung on her belt, Raal dashed forward and bare-handedly swiped at Argos's neck.

"WATCH IT!" Spider cried. He shoved Argos out of Raal's arm's length.

"Good intuition," the woman commented. "He would have died if I broke his skin."

"Poisoned nail polish?" Argos exclaimed. As much as he hated to admit it, Raal's strategy was quite sly. At the cost of reducing her own attack range, she increased her own attacking speed by ridding herself the need of carrying a katar's weight, all without losing an ounce of deadliness.

_That can't be all,_ Spider thought, his mind racing. _She can't block attacks like that; no one can block an attack with their bare-hands. _"Stay on your guard, kid!" he shouted. "She's got another ace in the hole!"

As if on cue, Raal threw at their feet what looked like a small red crystal from her hands. As soon as the gem touched the ground, it cracked in two, spewing out hazy purple smoke.

_A red gem,_ Argos noted. _Used by wizards and assassins as a catalyst for certain spells and effects... in this case, a poison based skill, Venom Dust! _The young assassin exhaled before of any of the poison gas could enter his lungs and leaped backwards.

"That's not all!" shouted the woman. She thrust her palm downwards, directly onto the cracked halves of the red gem. A violet shockwave erupted along the ground from her hand, forcing the poison gas to spread outward. Spider slammed his own palm into the ground in turn, creating another shockwave to neutralize the first. Cracks in the dusty pavement spiderwebbed out from the epicenter of the counterattack.

_Mixing Venom Dust with Meteor Assault.._. Spider thought. _I've never heard of such a battle style!_ _Where did this fighting style come from? She didn't have it last time I saw her fight! _"Cloak yourself now, Argos!" He reached into the cowl of his cloak and pulled up a dark mask that clung to his mouth and nose.

His partner scowled. "Tch, fine." Grabbing a handful of his cloak, he threw the edge over his body and disappeared from sight as his body shimmered into nothingness.

"Not manly at all," Raal said in a bored voice. "Running away at the first sign of something unfamiliar?" She flung a handful of red gems to the spot on the ground where Argos was last visible; they cracked open, spewing out purple smoke. "Cloaking is useless in smoke!"

It was true. As Argos looked down at the ground where his feet should have been invisible. The absence of smoke around his ankles made it clear where he was standing.

"Those gems are filled with a special type of poison created from my blood," Raal said, flinging more of the red gems towards Spider. "I'm immune to it. But you two, on the other hand... I wonder how long you can hold your breaths?"

Spider, who had somehow managed to catch the thrown red gems a second earlier, froze in his own throwing stance, and disappointedly threw them behind him. "Well, there goes any plans of using them back on you," he muttered. The man shoved his hands into his hip sack and grabbed a handful of throwing knives. With a flick of his wrists, Spider slung the knives towards the other assassin cross and snatched his Inverse Scare katars from his waist. In response, Raal grabbed her Loki's Nail katars.

By now, the street was filled with the hazy purple smoke from Raal's red gems. Argos saw no point in staying in the street; even while cloaking, he couldn't completely disappear in smoke. He jumped to the rooftops and took a fresh breath of air.

"Running away is useless too; I know you're on the rooftops!" Raal shouted while exchanging furious, quick katar slashes with Spider. "I'll take care of you once I'm finished with him!"

Argos glanced behind him; indeed, lingering wafts of the poison gas connecting him to the purple cloud below betrayed his position on the rooftop tiles. He cursed and sprinted to the side as Raal lobbed a handful of red gems in his general location.

"That's if you manage to finish me off," Spider countered, switching to his Silver Shotels and attacking once more. The other assassin cross hastily jumped backwards to place some distance between them.

"As expected of the assassin cross Spider," Raal complimented, wiping the newly formed shallow cut across her cheek. "Eight blades, like eight spider's legs, capable of switching between them in the heat of battle."

"Sorry to disappoint, but I only have seven today," he said.

"But still," she scowled. "Making a scratch on a lady's face... unforgivable! Why couldn't you have aimed for my body!?"

_...I don't want to lose to this bimbo,_ Argos thought.

Spider shrugged apologetically. "Sorry, sweetheart. All's fair in love and war."

"I was hoping to save this until later, but you've gone and made me very angry," Raal sighed. She pulled out an unlit wooden match from her hip sack. Spider stepped back in alarm.

"Y-You wouldn't!" he spluttered.

* * *

_Morroc Town Center, five minutes earlier_

Grant and Reinbach turned their head sharply to the sound of the explosion.

"That wasn't the orphanage, was it?" the paladin asked sharply. The knight shook his head.

"It sounded a lot closer than that." He looked at Grant questioningly. Curious civilians slowly crept towards the sound of the explosion, peering down the east street.

"It's unfortunate, Reinbach, but it's unrelated to us," Grant shook his head. "We need to stay here and wait for those two. Let Morroc deal with her own problems."

"Excuse me?" a young woman's voice asked, in a slight Payon accent. "Might you two be Sir Graves and Sir Reinbach?"

A pretty, brown haired dancer was looking in their direction, seeming slightly unsure. She appeared to be in her late teens. Behind her stood a brown haired man in his mid twenties, staring Grant and Reinbach with unnerving calmness.

"Ah." Grant said, turning to face the dancer. "You must be Eurie and Nicholas. I'm Grant Graves, and this is Kristoph Reinbach." He held out his hand, but Eurie ignored it. In her place, Nicholas took the paladin's hand and shook it silently.

"Who are they?" Reinbach asked. The dancer looked over to the knight and gave him a friendly smile.

"I am Eurie; the man standing behind me is my brother Nicholas. We're to be your guides while you travel to Comodo!"

"You mean, we weren't meeting with Spider and Argos here?" Reinbach asked to Grant.

"Uh, yes," the paladin said, looking slightly flustered. "As those two have never been to Comodo before, we needed someone who knew the way, so I arranged for these guides."

"As you can see," Eurie bubbled. "I am a dancer by profession. My brother, although it is not as obvious, is a clown. You must excuse his silence; he is mute." Nicholas bowed slightly; his tattered brown traveling cloak shifted open as he did so, revealing part of a small silver harp cradled in his arm.

"A mute clown..." Grant muttered under his breath. Eurie bristled slightly at this, but said nothing in response. "As agreed, half of the fee will be paid up front." He held out a small cloth bag, which Nicholas promptly took.

"Shouldn't we be returning to the orphanage?" Reinbach asked. "It's probably nothing, but that explosion earlier made me a little worried."

"I understand that there will be three or four more people traveling with us?" asked Eurie, latching onto Reinbach's arm as they walked.

"Er... yes..." the knight said, taken aback. He looked away, frowning. Whether Eurie noticed this nonverbal cue, she gave no sign, as she continued to hold his arm. "One of whom includes my childhood friend. A girl," Reinbach added. _This dancer doesn't get it..._

"Oh!" Eurie beamed. "I would like to meet her! Is she about my age?"

"Just about," Grant said. "And if we're lucky, we will have a high priestess traveling with us as well. The other two men went to meet with her."

"High priests are the elite of the Prontera Church, are they not?" Eurie asked excitedly. "This person must be amazing!"

"We need to be careful," Grant said to the others. "If I am guessing correctly, that explosion earlier was right around – " his voice died down.

They were standing in an unusually empty street, devoid of the normally bustling commerce that took place in Morroc from day to day. Up ahead, the air seemed to be clogged with a light purple mist.

"Poison," the paladin said quickly. "Everyone, we need to turn around and find a different route."

"What?" Eurie gasped. "Where? What happened?" She clung tighter to Reinbach, who was looking more and more uncomfortable.

"It's right there, can't you see it?" Reinbach said exasperatedly. He took a couple of steps back, which was quite a feat while someone had a death grip on his arm. "It looks like a lot too," he said. "Let's not waste any more time here."

Light footsteps on the dusty street behind them alerted them to someone's arrival. A high priestess with mouse-brown hair approached them with a concerned look on her face, wringing the fabric of her light blue uniform.

"Cadence!" Grant exclaimed. "You were supposed to meet with Quint!"

"Oh!" she said. "Grant! What are you doing here? It's dangerous."

"The same to you," the paladin said. "Where's Quint?"

The faint ringing of blade clashing against blade permeated through the purple mist.

"It would appear," Cadence sighed. "That he's in the middle of all that poison."

Another set of footsteps approached them rapidly, this time coming from the rooftops above. Kristoph looked about wildly, but he saw no one.

"TAKE COVER!" Argos's voice bellowed. "NOW!"

"What!? Where's Quint?" Grant demanded.

"JUST DO IT!" he roared. The assassin suddenly popped into sight on the rooftop tiles.

The paladin hefted the shield from his back onto his arm and braced his feet. There was nothing in sight that could be used as an impromptu cover for whatever Argos was warning them about.

"Everyone behind me!" the paladin shouted.

"What? What's happening?" Eurie said, panicking. She squawked as Reinbach shoved her behind Grant. The knight himself stood behind the dancer, bracing his feet. There was a scramble as Argos, Cadence and Nicholas hurried to stand behind the paladin.

What appeared before Grant was the largest explosion he had ever seen in his life. Plumes of fire erupted into the air and came scorching down the street as all the purple mist earlier instantly vaporized into flames. He barely had enough time to see the barrier spell that Cadence cast on him spring up, before the fire broke upon his shield. A wave of heat splashed across his body; surely if he had no shield or magic barrier, he would have been burnt to cinders.

After a minute, Grant lifted his head up over the shield. Tongues of flame were flickering along the ground and the walls of the houses, but for the most part, the heat was bearable.

"Is everyone okay?" he asked.

An assortment of voices greeted him in response. They were slightly burnt, but fortunately no one seemed to be hurt.

"It looks like it," Reinbach responded, making a quick headcount. "Hey you," he demanded to Argos. "What happened?"

"An assassin cross sent to kill us happened," Argos said, none too amicably. He looked at Cadence, Eurie and Nicholas. "Who are they?"

"More importantly," Grant interrupted, looking around. "Where's Quint?"

Argos looked at his feet with downcast eyes, pausing slightly.

"He was in the center of that explosion."

* * *

ANOTHER CLIFFHANGER!! D:


	10. Embarkment

* * *

_Streets of Morroc_

The walk back to the orphanage was slow and silent. There was an almost tangible tension hanging in the air before the group, the kind that was readily visible to a newcomer; worn in their furrowed brows, etched into the lines formed as mouths were set, hanging from their drooping eyelids. The occasional shuffling of footsteps and shifting of clothing and various armor dotted the silence, but not a single word sparked up to start a conversation. There was an urgency, quickening their paces, throwing their senses into high gear, turning every dark alleyway into a danger zone, every corner into a potential ambush point.

"Grant, there's something you need to know," Cadence said, breaking the silence for the first time. Behind the high priestess, Eurie jumped, startled at the noise. She once again grabbed onto Reinbach's arm for support.

"What is it?" the paladin asked curtly. Cadence looked around for potential eavesdroppers, then lowered her voice.

"Two days ago, the Boss decreed the formation of a military force of elites, for the purpose of hunting down defectors, traitors and treasoners," she muttered.

"Namely, us," he said. "Fill me in on the details."

"It will be divided into four classes, for specialization. Each class is to be led by its highest ranking or most capable member. Lord knights, paladins, champions and high priests. They're to be called the Royal Justices."

"I'm assuming that I wasn't chosen to lead the crusaders and paladins," Grant said darkly. "Something tells me that I'm not on the Boss's good side."

"They've elected Sir Uriel Margaret as the paladin," Cadence said, "and I was chosen to lead the priests and priestesses." Hearing this, Grant swore.

"That goes to show that he doesn't suspect you," the paladin growled. "I suppose we can forget about having high priest support while we travel."

"I'm sorry Grant; I didn't have a choice. I didn't want to rouse the Boss's suspicion more than necessary."

He shook his head.

"It couldn't be helped. Uriel Margaret would have been chosen whether the Boss suspected me or not. Well then, has Chivalry Captain Herman been chosen as the Lord Knight?" he asked. Cadence shook her head.

"He doesn't trust him either. In the circle, he only trusts me and Michael of the Famestra line, but Michael turned down the Pope's request so – "

"Probably Salathiel as the champion leader," Grant mused.

"Right. But the lord knight candidate is still undecided. I have no idea who might be chosen."

"We'll worry about that later then. It can't be helped. That's the modus operandi used by our circle..." his voice trailed off.

"Spider's modus operandi..." Cadence said. The two fell silent. For a minute, the group continued walking wordlessly.

"What circle?" Reinbach asked, breaking the silence once more. They had just rounded another corner leading to the street where the orphanage sat.

"Well it's down by one less member, but the circle is a group that transcends the political alliances and power balance of our time." The high priestess opened her mouth to continue, but Grant shook his head at her.

"No explanations beyond what's strictly necessary," he said. They reached the entrance of the orphanage. Daphne was waiting for them, pacing anxiously back and forth in front of the doors of the building.

"I heard the explosion," she said. "Is everyone... who is this, Kristoph?" Her face turned distantly neutral, eyeing Eurie, who was still clinging to Reinbach's arm.

"This... person is one of our guides to Comodo," the knight said quickly. "And I have no idea why she decided to –"

"You must be Kristoph's friend he told me about," Eurie beamed, grabbing Daphne's hands. "I've been looking forward to meet you!"

Daphne looked somewhat bewildered at Eurie's unrestrained vivacity, but still held some suspicion. There were some trespasses that women didn't easily forget, and Eurie had already unwittingly committed one the moment Daphne laid eyes on her.

"I'm Daphne Trenton," she introduced guardedly.

"Introductions can come later," Grant said, ushering them inside. "Considering that last attack, we can expect another assassin at any moment. Right now, Cadence needs to heal you so we can start traveling as soon as possible."

"Maybe I'm missing something," interrupted Argos. "But we have a high priestess right here, who can send us anywhere instantly via warp. Why are we still here?"

Grant and Cadence exchanged glances.

"Even if I did have Comodo set as one of my warp points, which I don't," she explained. "It would be a bad idea to send you there because the Pope would find out not long afterward. Warp points are monitored and documented with each casting."

"Considering how the Pope is the one who wants us dead, warping is basically the same as telling him to 'come kill us here,'" Grant said. "Well, I don't blame you for not knowing that. It's confidential information that not many people know about."

Cadence led Daphne away to a one of the rooms. "This won't take but a few minutes," she called to the group over her shoulder. "Be ready to leave by then."

"In the meanwhile," Grant said, clapping his hand over Argos's shoulder. "There are some things you need to tell me." He led the young man to the table. "Have a seat." Reinbach and Nicholas followed them and sat down as well.

"What?"

"There were two attacks made on people from our group," Grant said. "One of them was a female stalker who looked to be in her late teens, and the other I have no idea about. Considering that you were involved with the second one, I need any information from you about the attacker's battle style, mannerisms, physical appearance... anything you can think of."

Argos closed his eyes, trying to remember the assassin cross's face. The face of the attacker from was already beginning to slip from his memory. He stood up and raised his hand up to his nose, palm down.

"She was an assassin cross in her late twenties, about this tall, I think," he said slowly. "She had pale skin, long, black hair, pulled back into a ponytail that reached her lower back. I wasn't close enough to see her eye color, but I would have noticed if they were blue or green, so I'm assuming they're brown. She was also very concerned with her physical appearance, applying make-up before the battle began."

He began pacing along the wooden floorboards of the orphanage. Eurie and Nicholas were listening with rapt attention, both apparently very intrigued with the description of the assassin cross.

"Spider said her codename was Raal. She had a black assassin cross uniform. She carried a set of katars but she was capable with hand-to-hand combat, and wears poisoned nail polish. She frequently threw red gems as catalysts for the purple poison gas you saw earlier. They're made from some of her own blood so she's immune to the gas. Near the end of the fight, she pulled out an unlit match."

"Why would she do that?" Grant asked.

"She mixed some sort of flammable explosive into the red gem. That explosion earlier was because she lit that match."

"We should assume that she had some sort of means to survive that explosion," the paladin mused. "Spider mentioned to me before briefly, some of the assassin crosses in the guild. Raal was one of the higher ranking assassin crosses."

"Well that is good to hear!" Eurie chimed, clapping her hands together. "That means that we should expect things to get easier, doesn't it?"

Argos shook his head.

"Raal is ranked fourth in the Assassins Guild," he said. "That means there are three stronger assassin crosses. We can expect them to attack at any time."

"That's not quite true," Grant sighed. "Quint... or Spider was ranked third. So we can expect two attacks generally worse than today's. And on top of that, there's no rule against sending the fifth ranked or sixth ranked."

"But... this Spider man," Eurie said. "How could he have been beaten by someone weaker than him?"

Reinbach buried his face into his palm while Argos bristled with irritation. At the end of the table, Grant noticed Nicholas mouthing the words 'Spider man' with some bemusement. _Well,_ the paladin thought. _At least those two finally find a common dislike._

"Look," Reinbach said. Traces of a growl were beginning to creep into his voice. "Just because Spider was ranked higher than Raal, it doesn't mean Raal had a few hidden cards or wasn't in top condition –"

"It was a lucky strike!" Argos snapped, to Spider's defense. "A lucky strike with an underhanded move!"

Eurie meekly bowed her head.

"Rank isn't a perfect gauge for battle strength or efficiency," Grant said. "We also have to consider an assassin cross's area of specialization, strengths and weaknesses, and surroundings. And one more thing. Blaming things on lucky strikes or not being in top condition won't do you any good. It's an excuse for sore losers who weren't prepared for the battle."

Argos was about to snarl a response, but Grant waved him off.

"Spider once told me before. In his opinion, preparation was the number one factor in deciding a battle for assassins. From what I heard about this Raal character, I would say she was well prepared."

The young assassin scowled, having nothing to say in response. He recalled Reinbach fighting off Colette without an ounce of preparation. His face darkened. _Would Reinbach have been able to beat Raal? Would the berserk state have been enough? _The assassin shot a glance at the knight, feelings of frustration bubbling up from a well deep inside him.

* * *

_Eight years prior, Morroc slums_

A ten year old Richard King staggered through the streets, dizzy with hunger. He wrapped his tattered rag around his chest; the pathetic cloth couldn't even be considered a shirt. The boy stumbled over his own feet and almost fell flat on his face. _Another day without food, _he thought, bracing one arm against a wall for support. _That orphanage is useless._

Around him, the citizens of Morroc walked on, conducting their daily business. A starving orphan was simply a statistic. Sure, some might shed a few tears for them, but no one bothered to help. No one would reach out their hand to any of these homeless orphans. What good what it do anyways? They'd live one day longer in their pitiful, miserable existence. One more day of suffering. The world went on. No one cared. It didn't matter that he was the son of the king of Prontera. Here, he was an impoverished orphan.

Still, he considered himself lucky that he had eaten yesterday. That traveling stranger from the day before was stupid and careless enough to leave his coin purse unguarded, not that he was complaining. The man should have been aware of the fact he was in the town of thieves after all. Yes... stealing could be overlooked; in fact, it was necessary for survival. The strong preyed on the weak... kill or be killed.

But at this rate, it looked like he was beginning to fall into the 'killed' category. He forced himself not to cry. What use would crying have in the merciless streets of Morroc? What effect would crying have on the hardened criminals and vagabonds of the Morroc slums?

One advantage of being so destitute in poverty was that no one would mug him for his possessions; he had none save the rags on his skeletal frame. Strangely enough, he preferred the slums of Morroc rather than the busy, open streets of the Morroc town center; here, he blended in. Here, he wasn't just a statistic; he was a survivor.

A jarring bump shook him to his senses, almost knocking him to the ground. Richard looked upward and saw a cloaked man standing in his way.

"YOU!" the boy snarled with an animal-like ferocity that didn't belong in ten year old boys. He curled his fingers into a fist and rushed towards the man. "Give back my mother!"

The man raised his foot and firmly planted his boot into Richard's chest, sending him staggering backwards and onto the ground. He took a few steps towards the boy and dug his boot into his chest.

"You won't be killing anyone, screaming and charging in like that," the man said, grinding the tip of his boot into Richard's ribs. "Hide your presence, stay relaxed, and release your energy at the last moment as you strike."

The young boy squirmed and groaned in pain, but held back his cries by biting his tongue.

"Good mental fortitude," the man remarked, looking almost intrigued. "Most boys your age would be squealing for their mommies by now." He lifted his foot off Richard's chest and kicked the boy, sending him sliding across the dusty street. The assassin pulled out a loaf of bread from under his cloak, ripped off a piece and ate, chewing slowly as he watched Richard struggle to stand up.

Richard once again charged forward in an attempt to attack the man once more, but fell flat on his face from exhaustion and hunger, before he even reached the assassin.

"... We'll have to work on your balance there," the man said. "That's to be expected from a growing boy. Your body grows, and you need to adjust to the changes in your –"

He paused as Richard grabbed onto the hem of his cloak with an angry fist. Irritation flared up inside of him.

"We'll have to work on your manners too," he said, kicking away the offending hand. A corner of his cloak was smudged where the boy had grabbed onto it. "... But I suppose you pass." He dropped the loaf of bread onto the ground in front of him. Richard's stomach growled uncomfortably loudly.

Raw, primal instinct took over the boy, and he snatched up the loaf of bread before he could help himself. Within moments, he was wolfing down the bread desperately, not even caring that it was slightly coated with the dust from the ground.

"I'll see you again tomorrow," the man said. He turned and walked away, shimmering from sight in broad daylight.

Not before long, Richard finished the loaf of bread. He stared blankly in front of him, frozen. _What did I just do?_ he said to himself. Tears of shame and self-revulsion streamed down his face and his body shook with sobs. He hugged his knees tightly and rocked back and forth.

The world went on around him. No one cared. He was just one insignificant speck in a wasteland the size of the universe.

* * *

_Morroc Orphanage, Present_

Daphne flexed her back from side to side gingerly, testing the muscles carefully.

"Is there any pain at all?" Cadence asked.

"No, thank you very much," Daphne smiled gratefully. "You've done a wonderful job."

"Nonetheless, I recommend that you take it easy," the high priestess suggested. "Although the pain and the wound may be gone, your body is still recovering from the injury. You may be more prone to sickness or exhaustion."

"I'll try," Daphne said. Cadence smiled in return.

"Then I take my leave," she bowed.

"Please, you're much too formal," said Daphne, turning around to put on a traveling shirt. "I am just a caretaker for this orphanage."

"Princess Daphne," the high priestess said. Daphne froze.

"How did you know who I was?" she asked.

"No matter what you do or where you are, we will always exist to serve you. Please keep that in mind as you travel; Grant Graves is a trustworthy, reliable man."

She stared at Cadence for a long while, then nodded.

"Farewell, princess," the high priestess said. "Godspeed." She bowed once again and left the room.

No sooner had Cadence left, Reinbach entered.

"Daphne!" he said, in a valiant attempt not to sound nervous. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, thank you very much," she replied tersely. Her tone of voice once again turned distantly neutral.

"Listen, I know what you're probably thinking–"

"Oh? What am I thinking?" she asked sweetly, but it was clear she had darker thoughts running through her mind.

"I don't even know why that Eurie girl decided to grab my arm like that."

"Who said anything about Eurie?"

"Don't play dumb! It was clear you were thinking about her!" He knew he was right from the way Daphne balled her fists.

"Oh? And what makes you an expert on what other people are thinking?" she said stubbornly.

"Excuse me?" Eurie said from the doorway.

"Oh, give it up!" Reinbach sighed. "You've been acting weird ever since you saw her."

"Hello...?"

"On YOUR arm, if I remember correctly," the blonde witch snapped.

"Oh, so I was right!"

"Might I interrupt you?"

"We're busy right now, Eurie," Daphne said. "Kristoph and I are having a little chat. So what was that all about, Kristoph?"

Reinbach ran his gloved fingers through his blonde hair in frustration.

"Like I said earlier, I don't know why she suddenly decided to latch onto my arm like that."

"You know what?" Daphne said. "Save it. I don't want to talk to you anymore. Eurie, did you want something?" The dancer, still standing in the doorway, blinked in surprise at this sudden turn of events.

"Eh... yes! A word with you alone, please!"

"So whenever it's convenient for you, you decide to stop?" Reinbach growled.

"Out!" Daphne threatened, brandishing her arc wand. The knight's storm gray eyes blinked in surprise.

"Don't do this, Daphne."

"One."

Kristoph shook his head, then turned and left. "Have it your way," he relented.

Daphne began rummaging through the bookshelf in the room for travel items; potions, a spare wand, blue gemstones. The potions were vital in emergency situations when on-the-fly healing was required. The spare wand was a backup in case her primary wand broke or disappeared. Blue gemstones, similar to how red gemstones were catalysts for certain skills, were required if she wanted to cast certain spells. Eurie waited patiently as she packed her traveling bag, like an annoying pet waiting to be fed, or a persistant vulture circling a half-dead carcass. Maybe a combination of the two; Daphne was having trouble deciding which analogy would be better suited for the dancer.

"So," the witch said, tying her hair back into a ponytail. "What can I do for you?" In all honesty, she didn't want to help the dancer at all, but she didn't have much of a choice.

"There is a secret I would like to share with you," Eurie said. Daphne paused, then turned to Eurie, giving her full attention.

"Oh?"

* * *

_Morroc palace_

Sitting next to one of the high, steepled spires of the Morroc palace, Raal wrinkled her nose in distaste after sniffing her clothes daintily. They smelled of acrid smoke and burnt flesh. She sighed, pulled out a bottle of perfume from her hip sack, puffed a couple of clouds on her uniform and carefully replaced it. She eyed the wreckage of the explosion she caused earlier; at least half a mile away.

A dark figure vaporized into sight next to her. Raal languidly tilted her head to address her visitor.

"Yggdrasil's bane, Remiel. You must have scared two years off my life." If she was surprised, she certainly didn't show it.

Remiel was an assassin cross, radiating chaos and paranoia. He had dark indigo hair, curling roughly down to his shoulder blades, black irises, heavily shadowed eyes from lack of sleep, and an expressionless visage that was difficult to place an age on. His uniform, a khaki yellow, blended in perfectly with the sands of Morroc and many of the buildings. At his belt hung a pair of black Infiltrator katars. His hands twitched and moved constantly, his eyes darting to and fro.

"Is he dead?" Remiel asked. His apathetic expression indicated that there was no love lost between himself and Spider.

"Probably." Raal yawned. "I don't like dealing with corpses. Not beautiful at all."

Remiel scoffed, then muttered curses under his breath. "Should've checked... should've cut up his body into bits... then burn the remains."

"Whatever," Raal dismissed, standing up. "My mission's complete. I gave them a warning, then caused a huge scene. It's your mission later to clean up any survivors in their group, Mr. First Rank."

"Don't see why I can't do it today," said Remiel, gripping the handles of his Infiltrators. "The longer we wait, the more prepared they'll be."

"You know the leader's orders," Raal warned. "Your turn isn't until much later. We have to wait until things begin to settle down."

Remiel scowled, staring into the dying flames of the explosion in the distance. He muttered something that sounded like 'fourth ranker,' but otherwise remained silent.

* * *

_Morroc Orphanage_

Eurie sat on the orphanage dinner table, swinging her legs, humming an odd tune, pleasantly off-key. Sitting in a chair at the other end of the table, Nicholas tuned his harp, listening carefully to the soft twangs as he plucked the strings. He glanced over to his younger sister; they exchanged smiles, and he resumed tuning his harp. Their traveling bag lay on the table between them, fully packed.

"Ready to go?" she asked him quietly. Nicholas, being unable to speak, strummed an arpeggio chord in response. They picked up their bags, and walked to the main room of the orphanage, where most of the group had already gathered.

In the far corner of the room slouched Argos, hands across his chest. Nicholas gave him a nod of greeting. He realized that the assassin had no one to talk to in the group; being mute, he could understand what it felt to be socially isolated. Argos continued sulking in response. Not much of a response at all. The asssassin's travel belongings lay on the ground next to him. He packed relatively light.

Grant and Cadence were talking quietly near the front entrance. Most likely, they were dealing with private matters regarding the circle mentioned earlier. Cadence nodded, then left the orphanage. A moment later, from the tell-tale flash of blue light, Nicholas knew that the high priestess had warped, probably back to Prontera. Nice talking to you, too. Although he supposed that being mute, there were some things that couldn't be helped. Grant, having finished his conversation with Cadence, began studying a map in his hand with deep scrutiny.

Kristoph Reinbach was pacing agitatedly back and forth along the wall, opposite of Argos's corner. Looks like the assassin wasn't the only one in a bad mood. The knight was too deep in his thoughts to notice Nicholas and Eurie enter the room. Nicholas sat down at the table and gave his harp a few experimental plucks, strums and chords.

"I'll be back soon, I promise," Daphne said to Rachel. The young girl seemed on the verge of tears, but she sniffed and nodded resolutely. "You be a good girl okay?" Another orphan was crying in earnest, squeezing her X-mouthed teddy bear, but Rachel patted her head consolingly.

"You're not going to take her along?" Argos ventured. Daphne shook her head.

"As much as I would like to take her along with me," she said, "it's probably safer to leave her here in the orphanage for a while."

As Daphne finished saying her goodbyes with Rachel and the other orphans in the edge of the main room, Grant looked up from his map and nodded.

"Good. It looks like every one of us is accounted for. Everyone pack their things?"

Daphne looked around, counting heads as she hoisted her bag over her shoulder.

"Aren't we missing someone?" she asked. Grant nodded again.

"Unfortunately, Cadence will not be traveling with us, as she has important duties to attend to. We will be traveling in this group of six."

"Not just her," she went on. "What happened to that assassin cross earlier?"

The room fell silent as it's inhabitants realized that no one had bothered to explain to her what happened to Spider.

Argos stood up straight from his slouch.

"Right now, Spider has something to take care of," he said. "He'll be back as soon as he can."

Grant and Reinbach exchanged glances, but no one corrected him. Right now hardly seemed the best time to tell Daphne about Spider's death. It would have to wait until later, after they would arrive in Comodo.

"Well then!" Eurie said. She had stealthily managed to attach herself to Reinbach's arm once again. "Let us be off to Comodo!" An angry scowl formed on the knight's face.

"Can you stop that?" he snapped. "I didn't say anything before, but now it's getting –"

To everyone's surprise, Daphne was the one who interrupted him.

"No complaints, Kristoph!" she said, waggling a finger at him. "You need to act more like a gentleman!"

"You heard her – Wait what?!" Reinbach did a double take.

"She's our guide to Comodo! We need to be as accommodating as possible."

"But –" Reinbach cried.

"No buts!"

Eurie smiled sheepishly. "Sorry for the trouble," she apologized.

"To Comodo!" Daphne half-shouted, half-cheered.

Reinbach looked from Daphne to Eurie and back again.

"What's going on!?" he spluttered.

* * *

_Morroc Residence_

In the darkened, dim room of a Morroc household, a man laying down in bed groaned in pain as he emerged from slumber. He forced himself up and bit back a cry; his clothes were removed from his body, replaced with bandages covering most of his torso and his arms.

"I'd lay back down if I were you," a young woman's voice said from behind the open door of the room. The woman walked into the room, wearing only a towel. Apparently, she had just taken a shower. "I went through a lot of trouble dressing your wounds."

The man stiffened. Although he couldn't see the woman clearly in the darkness of the room, he recognized her voice instantly. She stepped closer to the injured man, into the flickering candlelight of the wax candles around him, and dug through the drawer next to the bed. Long, red, layered hair clung to her back from the moisture of her shower.

"Why did you save me?" he asked, finally.

"Why?" Colette responded. "If there was a reason... It's because I wanted to." She smiled mysteriously. "You're so cruel, Quint," she said. "I risked my life to save you from that giant explosion, but you don't even have a word of thanks." Her voice turned a little husky. "You could at least show some appreciation."

Spider's eyes narrowed in distrust.

"You realize this changes nothing, right?" he said.

"Oh, we'll see," she responded.


	11. The Hunter and the Hunted

A/N: I've been putting off this chapter for so long... it's a huge fault of mine. I wanted to publish at least three chapters this summer but it looks like I barely managed ... if any of you have been wondering how some characters looked like, I've put a deviant art link in my profile. If you're bored, try to guess who they are before looking at the picture description. (Just a hint: none of the depicted people in my latest deviation are over 20 years of age.) It may take a while before the link shows up on the profile page.

This chapter didn't really come out well; the idea and the concept was there; the proper words and phrases just didn't flow out.

To reviewers:  
(FireyFlames) Hahaha! I had fun writing the April Fool's chapter. :D I'm considering writing more "for-fun" chapters on special dates and holidays; then putting them in a side story. Gotta be fair to the newcomer readers too, I guess!

(Bystander) I never really considered that! I'll take that into consideration when I write future chapters.

(K.T. Winters) I'm really glad! The story is the one thing I'm proud of with this fanfiction; I feel like the grammar and the writing style could use a ton of work. I'll try to keep updating a lot!

:(

Well... since a new school year started, and I'm going to start a job (hopefully), I don't know if I can update as much as I can... I'll do my best, I guess!

* * *

_Prontera Residence, the following morning_

The red-haired professor took the rosary into her hand grimly. She hung her head and sighed.

"I see," Tabby Williams said, simply. The knight who gave the rosary to her nodded.

"It is as you suspect," Caitlin Margaret said. "Grant Graves has committed a grievous sin against the church by rejecting the Pope's orders. It is only a matter of hours until the Pope receives word of this; Graves will subsequently be removed of his position and be excommunicated from the church."

"Of course," replied Tabby.

Caitlin threw a couple of furtive glances around the living room, lilac irises flickering about.

"You didn't hear this from me," she whispered. "But had Grant Graves allowed us to travel with him, I believe a good number of the squadron would have followed him."

Tabby blinked.

"But of course, because his last orders for us were to return to the capital, we could not follow him as we wished. I fear that the squadron had lost its trust for him at that point." She paused and stood up. "If there were one man who would remain loyal to the church, I believed it to be Graves. I am sure he had his reasons; that much I can say for him. I... assume it would be rude to inquire what that rosary means." The knight bowed. "I take my leave."

Not long after Caitlin left, Tabby said down into a cushioned armchair next to a table and reached into her uniform's pocket to pull out her reading glasses. She carefully studied the base of the cross pendant of the rosary, then unscrewed the bottom. There was a tiny compartment; inside was a tightly rolled up scrap of paper.

"Here we go," she mumbled. She shook the cross gently and slowly unfurled the paper. Grant had carefully inscribed a short message onto the paper; she knew from the handwriting it was from him.

_Starling was attacked; attempt failed. Headed to Comodo w/ starling  
and 4 or 5 others to wait until the mess settles down. Expect  
interrogators from the Boss; take whatever possessions you need  
__and run. Meet me in Comodo in three days._

The message bore ill tidings; the fact that there had been an assassination attempt on Daphne's life so soon meant the Pope's plans were already in motion. A thrill of fear rushed down her spine; any moment now, the Pope's men could come knocking down her door and taking her in for questioning. What was she doing sitting around here? She had to pack her belongings, she needed to bring extra clothing, there were scrolls in her office in Yuno that needed to be sealed; there seemed to be a mountain of things that had to be done, and quickly! Tabby hurried to her room to begin packing her possessions. The ticking of the grandfather clock and the emptiness of the house around her seemed much more threatening now that she had received Grant's warning.

_How long has it been since that letter was written? How much time do I have until the Pope hears word of this?_

She wasn't staying around to find out.

* * *

_Prontera Church, Pope's office_

He considered himself a man of subtlety - a thinker, not a fighter - but he had to admit that the Long Horn spear in his hands was beautiful.

It was awarded to him as he had been elected as pope, fifteen years ago. Back then, he had been ecstatic, but conducted himself very demurely, gracefully.

It fooled everyone around him, for all he knew. He was, of course, a man of subtlety. He had to be, in order to get away with some of the more than questionable decrees he'd issued over the years.

Tracing his finger along the spiraling grooves of the Long Horn spear point, he had to admire the workmanship and the design. After fifteen years of holding this spear, he still wasn't tired of looking at it. Of course, he made sure never to let anyone see himself being so materialistic, he was the Pope; it wasn't becoming of the Pope to be so attached to worldly things. The spear was merely a symbol, even if he wasn't trained in using long arms.

For a spear, it was fairly light. It had a long, elegantly spiraling unicorn horn for a head that came to a viciously sharp point. Supposedly, the spear itself had magical antidotal properties, and being pierced by the horn would cause unstoppable bleeding. Whether it was true or not, he didn't wish to find out. He wasn't masochistic enough to poison himself or stab himself, for that matter.

A knock on the wooden oak doors alerted him to his senses.

"Enter," he said, quickly propping the spear against his chair and folding his hands over his lap. The doors groaned as they opened, and admitted a messenger in his thirties.

"Your Eminence," the man bowed and knelt on one knee. "I bring unfortunate news."

Pope Hibram merely looked at messenger, waiting for him to finish.

"Chevalier Paladin Grant Graves has abandoned his mission to escort Daphne Trenton back to the capital," he said, voice trembling. "He has sent the squadron under his command, save one knight, back to Prontera without him. We have dispatched interrogators to retrieve his fiancee as we speak."

"I see," Hibram said, evenly. He wasn't entirely surprised or disappointed. In fact, this went along with his plans perfectly. He was going to have _that man_ bring back the traitor anyways. "I'm afraid nothing good will come of this," he sighed. The messenger bought his act, hook, line and sinker. "What is the name of the knight with Graves?"

"Kristoph Reinbach, your Eminence."

Now _that_ he had not expected, and was disappointing news to hear. The knight had a lot of potential, and would have been an excellent addition to his collection of inside followers.

"How very sad," murmured Hibram, just audibly enough for the messenger to hear. "Please wait there for a moment."

He pulled out a scroll of parchment and a quill and penned down a handful of names.

"Are you aware of the Royal Justices that the King and I have discussed?" he asked the messenger. But of course, it was entirely of his own creation. King Trenton was on his deathbed; he had been for weeks.

"Y-yes!" the messenger exclaimed. "A select group of elites, appointed as generals to lead our forces as the will of Prontera! I understand that our very own Cadence Michelle Symphonia is to head the priests and high priests of the church."

"That is correct," the Pope said. "This list consists of the names of those talented individuals who will act in place of the current generals of Prontera. With the king so focused on recuperating, Prontera needs new generals, as the current generals can't lift a finger without the king's orders."

He rolled up the scroll and placed his custom wax seal on it.

"Please distribute this to the heralds and have them deliver the message to the Prontera Chivalry, the crusaders and priests from our church, and the monks' monastery to the northeast. The Royal Justices are to retrieve Grant Graves and anyone associated with him, alive."

"At once, your Eminence."

* * *

_South of Morroc_

It was exhausting climbing up the steep sand dune, and that irritating music wasn't making it any easier. Grant had half a mind to rip the harp from Nicholas's hands and fling it as far as he could, but he told himself that he needed to set an example; he was in a sense, the improvised leader of the group.

They couldn't hire peco mounts for the journey; Eurie had insisted that the route they were going could only be traversed by foot. The dancer squawked as she stumbled in the sand, having lost her footing. Reinbach almost fell over, as he was "volunteered" to help the dancer walk. _What sort of guide needs help walking anyways?_ Grant thought.

Well, it wasn't as though the group could have rented pecos either. Doing such would require signing paperwork, and thus, leave a trail for trackers. Considering how assassins wanted some people in their group dead, and how knights and crusaders wanted the rest in their group captured, it was probably in their best interests to leave as few clues as possible. The guides didn't count. Grant didn't consider them to be part of the group.

Maybe if he said that the unwanted music could give off their location to pursuers...

Before he had the chance to use this excuse, Daphne collapsed as she reached the top of the sand dune.

"Daphne!" Reinbach shouted.

"I'm okay," she called out faintly. "I'm just feeling dizzy..."

Grant took a look at the other travelers. They were smothered in desert sand and sweat. Even Argos, the one who had been growing up in Morroc all his life, looked exhausted.

"Even though you've been healed from your injuries, your stamina isn't what it used to be before the assassination attempt," Grant said. "Although the wounds are gone, your body simply hasn't been given a chance to recover."

"Isn't there any place nearby to rest?" Reinbach asked Eurie. "We're all exhausted, we've been walking for a couple of hours already."

"O-oh!" she stammered as Nicholas continued fiddling on his harp. "A-ah, I'm sure quite sure there is a river... ten minute walk from now." She pointed vaguely towards the south.

"Is that right?" Grant said, peering in the direction that Eurie pointed. "So that wasn't a mirage I was looking at then? That's the best news I've heard all day."

But the river wasn't a ten minute walk away, as the dancer said it would be. It was not until forty minutes of trudging, staggering and irritating music until they began hearing the sound of running water.

"I'm... at my limit..." Reinbach croaked, as he stumbled over his own feet. No one else seemed to have the energy to say anything, only the wilting sounds of Nicholas's harp responded.

"We're almost there," Eurie panted. "I can hear the river."

The river lay at the bottom of a slanted and craggy cliff, about fifteen feet below them.

"Ugh..." Argos muttered. "So it's this kind of river..."

Grant pointed at to a small riverbank at the bottom.

"We'll rest there for a couple of hours to save our strength," he said. "It should be noon right about now; we'll do most of our traveling when the sun isn't as strong."

A wave of relief washed over them and they began their climb downwards. It wasn't long after drinking from the river, had they managed to set up some sort of improvised shade with a large section of cloth and a couple of spears. The water, which could surely be described as tepid at best, seemed cool compared to the baking desert air.

"Alright," Grant said, taking a swig from a brown leather waterskin. He eyed their guides; Nicholas was busy helping Eurie get water by the river. "Gather around." His face turned serious and he lowered his voice. "I've something I want to discuss with you."

Argos, Reinbach and Daphne huddled closer to the paladin.

"Originally, the plan was to stage the princess's assassination," Grant whispered. "But that stalker Colette threw a wrench in our plans, and we had no choice but to flee Morroc to evade further assassination attempts."

Reinbach and Argos both seemed irked at the mention of Colette. Grant had a feeling he knew why.

"What's done is done," the paladin said. He looked at Daphne. "More importantly, I have a proposition for you."

"Me?" she asked.

"Well yes, considering that it concerns you. The plan was to stage your death, tricking the Pope into thinking that you were dead, thus giving him an excuse to declare war on Morroc. But no matter how much power a person has, he can't start a war without the people's general approval. As of right now, your existence is unknown to the public; this is where the trap is sprung. The pope can't start a war without first revealing and acknowledging to Prontera your royal heritage, thus giving you the political significance needed to secure the throne."

"But it's not clear whether the Pope knows if she's dead or not," Argos said. "We're not sure if they know that we know this either."

"There's a lot of things that are unclear," continued Grant. "As such, I feel it's too risky to lure out another one of the hired hitmen and stage the princess's death in front of him again; it's extremely difficult to time when we don't know when the next assassin cross will strike."

"What are you suggesting?" Reinbach asked.

"For now, the Pope can't declare war until he confirms Daphne's death, so we'll protect the princess for as long as possible by evading assassins as best as we can. We're headed to Comodo and staying there for an indefinite amount of time, until the assassins get called off."

"If you ask me, that won't get us anywhere," Daphne said. "I'm still suspected of high treason, and I'm sure the Pope will eventually find another reason for starting a war."

"Which begs the question," said Argos. "If the Pope needs the population's favor, why would they care if Daphne Trenton dies? They think she killed the king."

Grant opened his mouth to reply, but he saw Eurie and Nicholas approach them from the river.

"Later," he muttered. He took a deep swig from the leather waterskin in his hands.

"Hello everyone!" Eurie chimed. "How are you holding up?"

"We're doing great," Reinbach sighed exasperatedly.

"I think we're being followed," blurted Argos, without any preamble.

"What!?" Grant almost spat water from his mouth.

"By who?" Reinbach asked. Nicholas looked around nervously, his fingers poised over the strings of his harp.

Argos shook his head. "I don't know. I'm not even 100 certain. It felt like I was being watched ever since we left Morroc."

"In that case, we're sitting ducks!" cried Grant, grabbing his sword and shield. He stood up and glanced around wildly, scanning the riverbanks. "Why didn't you say anything earlier?"

"Well she just asked us how we were holding up," Argos said, pointing to Eurie. "So I answered."

"Everyone in a circle around Daphne," Grant ordered.

"I can fight too!" she protested.

"Of course you can, but if you die by any chance, you'll lose much more than your life!" Grant argued. "Reinbach, Argos, you two guard Daphne facing the river."

The two of them nearly shot sparks from their eyes as they scowled at each other, but made no complaints and readied their stances.

Eurie, you're an archer so you can use a bow, right? Stand next to Daphne and provide long range support."

The dancer opened her mouth to say something but no coherent words came out.

"I- I... uh..."

"There's no time for arguing!" Grant shouted. "Fine! Nicholas! You should be able to use a bow as well!"

Nicholas nodded, then drew a bow from his bag, on which he promptly nocked an arrow.

The minutes dragged on and tension seemed to press down upon them like a blanket, but no ambushers arrived. Finally, Argos lowered his Drill Katars.

"I think they've realized that we noticed them," he said. "And if whoever is following us wanted to attack, they would have done so a long time ago."

Grant searched their surroundings more. "I agree," he said. He sheathed his sword. "If they wanted to ambush us, they would have done it when we first got here."

The paladin stepped carefully up the rocks of the slanted cliff and stared into the sand at his feet. He counted seven pairs of footsteps, one of them backtracking at a rapid pace, disappearing in the desert wind.

* * *

_Prontera Chivalry_

Ozworth stared in dismay and disbelief at the man slouching with his arms crossed in the chair in front of it. Behind him, the other knights muttered to one another. Mutterings of 'treachery' and 'injustice' floated about unchecked, and behind the seated man, Chivalry Captain Herman looked as though he wanted to rip the closest person's arm off at any moment.

"W-what is the meaning of this, Captain Herman?" Ozworth asked. "What the hell is that _blackheart _doing here?"

"It's the Pope's orders," Herman spat through clenched teeth. "We've no choice but to follow them."

"But why _him_ of all people!?" Ozworth shouted, pointing to the man sitting down. The man smirked, causing the scar across the bridge of his nose to shift, then uncrossed his arms to stand. His long, black dreadlocks swung as he stood up straight, revealing a set of black and gold lord knight's armor, shining clean and new.

"As of this morning, Alexei Volkov's bounty of five million zeny has been recalled," Herman said, barely able to keep the growl from creeping into his voice. "His formal rank of lord knight has also been returned to him as the Royal Justice of Knights, and he will lead the knight division to assist in capturing the criminal, former paladin Grant Graves."

"Criminal!? But sir!" Oworth interjected. "This man and his band of rogues killed Perceus Green on our way to Morroc!"

Herman's eyes widened in shock, then he shook his head from side to side.

"Unfortunately, the Pope has dismissed his criminal record as of this morning, so aye, that includes young Perceus's murder."

Volkov reached over his shoulder and with one hand, whipped out his Atroce Blade and swung downwards towards Ozworth's face. He stopped an inch from cleaving the young knight in two.

Ozworth's stomach nearly leaped out of his mouth, but he forced himself to glower unflinchingly at the former criminal's yellow pupils. All around them, knights and lord knights drew their weapons warningly, but stopped when they realized that Ozworth was untouched.

"Ahhhh, I remember you," Volkov leered. "I'll praise you for your guts, but I can't say the same thing about your brains."

The knight glared back, his mouth curling into a snarl. His hand went for the Battle Hook on his back.

"I'll never follow your – "

"Oho, hold it right there," Volkov said. "You sure you want to say something to your commanding officer?"

A few knights shifted uneasily side to side.

"That's enough, Olin," Ozworth heard a knight urge. "Think about who you're talking to."

"Let's get one thing into your shitty heads," Volkov growled. "As long as I'm around, there's only one thing you kids need." He re-sheathed his huge iron slab of a broadsword. "Fighting ability. This is what real knights need. Useless things like ideals and faithfulness; I don't need 'em."

The lord knight pointed an armored gauntlet to the small crowd of knights in front of him.

"You've been brainwashed into thinking that knights need to value friendship and loyalty and perseverance or some shit like that. That's just an excuse for the weaklings who aren't men enough to fight with their own strength. That paladin, Graves; he was supposed to be one of the more loyal ones, and look what happened there."

Behind him, Herman looked as though he wanted to strangle him, but his self-restraint was just barely holding himself in check.

"Grant Graves is twice the man you'll ever be," Herman said through his teeth. "Keep that in your head when you capture him, you treacherous swine."

"Treacherous?" Volkov asked. "Yet here I am, pardoned by the Pope and sent to capture the criminal, Graves."

Herman made a sort of strangled noise in his throat. He did not have anything to say in response.

"As long as I'm around, we'll be doing things my way," sneered Volkov, revealing sharp canines. "Be prepared to ride tonight, boys! We're going _hunting_."

* * *

_North Prontera Watch Tower, Crusader Barracks_

A paladin with short brown hair in his late twenties stared at the letter offered to him from the messenger, as the crusaders around him watched attentively. Another messenger lifted to him a highly polished, mirror-like shield, in which the paladin saw his own neatly trimmed goatee and the collar to his hunter green chestplate.

"Paladin Uriel Margaret," the messenger said. "You have been chosen as one of the interim generals of the Royal Justices."

Uriel took the letter into his hand and studied it carefully.

"If the Pope calls me, then what can I do but obey?" he said. The messenger bearing the shield began to tremble under its weight; Uriel hefted the shield into his own hand and lifted into the air easily. In response, the crusaders stood and saluted in unison.

Near the end of the barracks, Juniper Weiss struggled to keep the conflict inside him from showing on his face. Surely, Uriel Margaret's appointment to general would mean...

"It's unfortunate," Uriel muttered to himself. "I must hunt down one of my own. Who would have thought that Grant Graves would turn his back to the church?"

"Congratulations," the messenger who handed him the letter said. He hadn't quite heard the paladin's musings and mistook the raised shield for a different meaning. "The Pope has high expectations of you."

"A dark time awaits us," said Uriel. "Once more, blood will be shed in sadness. The cogs of war churn and we are powerless to stop it."

* * *

_Morroc Desert, East Fortress Saint Darmain_

He was sure of it; there was at least a score of rogues and the like surrounding them. Reinbach kept a firm grip on the Zweihander underneath his cloak. He gave a nod to Grant; the paladin in turn hovered his hand over the hilt of his sword and paid sharper attention to the fortress ruins. One by one the travelers tensed up and shifted into a more guarded gait, except for Eurie; she seemed completely oblivious to the change in atmosphere. Reinbach wanted to bury his face in his hands. The sooner they arrived at Comodo the happier he would be. It only meant they would be rid of the klutz of a dancer sooner, along with that Odin-damned accompanying music.

After having rested for a few hours near the riverbank, they had continued their trek across the bridge and into a milder region of the desert. Traveling in the outer reaches of the desert was much more bearable than the heart of the desert, especially since the sun wasn't as strong, and the abandoned ruins made it easier, providing the occasional worn-down walls for shade.

No, he took that back. The ruins weren't abandoned at all.

"Rogues," he whispered. Eurie perked up.

"What?" she asked, quite loudly. Everyone winced.

"Keep your voice down!" Argos snapped quietly. But it was too late.

A handful rogues and a stalker burst out from the sand in front of them, brandishing daggers. Another gang of rogues dashed out from behind the ruin walls, arrows trained on the group. They were surrounded.

"FREEZE!" the stalker yelled, spittle flying from his mouth.

"IT'S AN AMBUSH!!" Reinbach shouted. He drew Perceus Green's Zweihander from under his cloak.

"DROP YOUR WEAPONS!" someone shrieked.

"NO, YOU DROP YOUR WEAPONS!"

"RAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!"

"DIIIIEEEE!"

The clash of voices was starting to turn unintelligible but Grant's group and the ambushers soon ran out of breath and battle cries. They were left staring lamely at each other.

"Seriously folks, we're mugging you," the stalker said, scratching his bandanna. "Act more like mugged people."

"Well excuse us for not rolling over and dying," Daphne snorted. Her wand hand wavered slightly.

"...You're not doing a very good job of raiding, are you?" Grant asked.

"Sh-shut up!" one rogue said. "Ever since-"

The stalker smacked the rogue silent. "Enough of that, now."

"Ow! Wutchoo do that for?!" he whined, dropping his dagger and rubbing his head. He eyed Eurie. "Hey, yer kinda hot. Whaddya say you and me have a drink?" He picked up a dusty gourd hanging by a rope from his hip. Eurie recoiled backwards.

"Ah... no thank you," she declined politely. "I'm not even legal yet."

"Shucks, rejected already," he said. "Fine, I'll pawn it to one of ya fer 1,000 zeny."

"Hey, haven't I seen you somewhere?" the stalker asked, looking at Reinbach.

"Ah! I knew it!" Reinbach cried, jabbing his Zweihander forward. "Volkov's men!"

"You're from Graves's riders!" the stalker shouted.

"750 zeny?" the rogue offered, waving the gourd around.

"Shut up!" the stalker and Reinbach yelled at the same time. "This is for Perceus!" Reinbach roared, dashing forward.

"Taste Guido's revenge!" the stalker howled.

The two froze, dagger and sword inches from each other, both coming to a realization. It hadn't occurred to Reinbach that the rogues suffered a loss as well. Of course, he remembered one of the knights killing a rogue as they came to support the rear guard, but he had assumed that the rogues were merely a ragtag mob of rogues with no consideration for one another. These rogues were the same as them. They laughed together, they worked together, and they bled together. In the stalker's face, Reinbach saw his own facial expression reflected.

"600 zeny, it's a steal," drawled the rogue. "Kinda funny, cuz I stole this -"

"...Wait, so one of your guys is dead too?" the stalker asked.

Reinbach slowly nodded. "...One of your arrows."

The stalker stared blankly at Reinbach for a moment, then cursed. He slipped his bandanna off and threw it at the ground, revealing a ragged mane of black hair.

"Shit. Shit, man. Uh... look, I don't know what to say. We don't aim to kill when we go raiding. I mean... I'm not gonna apologize, one of your guys killed Guido after all, but -"

"That wouldn't have happened if you hadn't attacked us in the first place!" Reinbach shot back.

"Hey, guy," the stalker shrugged. "Every man has to eat. What do you expect from us? Sell for a living like merchants?"

"500 zeny!" the rogue crowed.

"Dammit Zimba! Completely disprove my point, why don't you?" The stalker dropped his knife arm. Zimba shrugged apologetically.

"...Bah, screw it. I'm just not motivated anymore."

"Wait," Grant said. "If you're Volkov's men, then where's Volkov?"

The rogues eyed each other and shuffled from side to side.

"He up and left, leaving Kardac here in charge" another rogue said. "Said he had some business to take care of and disappeared on us."

"I wonder what he's playing at..." Grant mumbled.

"To be honest, we just want our Boss back," Kardac, the stalker said. "Hasn't been the same without him. I've been trying to keep our men together, but it's hard without him."

"Ya know what?" Zimba said. "I'm tired of luggin' this thing around. If any of you guys wants it, you can have it."

"I'll take it," Argos said suddenly. Zimba tossed him the gourd.

"I'm not even drinking age yet either," the rogue muttered. He shoved his hands in his pockets and slouched against one of the walls of the ruins.

"I don't even know why you went through the trouble to get that," Kardac sighed. "You should have taken something more important than liquor."

One by one everyone lowered their weapons.

"Say, if you happen to run across him, tell him that Kardac and his boys are waiting for him to come back," said the stalker.

"That's if he doesn't try to slice our heads off first," Grant snorted.

"Hehe, yeah, he tends to do that sometimes," Kardac chuckled. "But then if you manage to live after a few encounters, he's like your drinking buddy."

"You rogues wouldn't have happened to notice someone following us, would you?" Grant asked, lowering his voice.

The stalker looked around the ruins, glancing at the other rogues.

"Any of you boys been following these folks here?" he asked. All of them shook their head from side to side. He scratched his head. "Well, if there's someone on your tail, then I don't think it's a rogue," he said. "We've got eyes all over these ruins, and we haven't noticed anyone. Rogues have a sense for rogues, you see."

"It means," Zimba interjected. "That yer tracker ain't real, or is good at doing what he does. Real good. I'm guessin' it's an assassin like you," he pointed to Argos. "Actually, maybe an assassin cross if yer assassin here haven't seen 'im yet. Assassins have a sense for assassins, ya see."

Grant nodded. "We'll keep an eye out for Volkov then."

Kardac rubbed his nose. "Uh look," he said. "We obviously got off to a bad start here. You folks aren't so bad." He held out his hand.

The paladin smiled, and shook his hand. "I'd never thought I'd shake hands with one of your kind," he said.

"Likewise," the stalker smirked. "So where are you headed?"

"I don't want to say," Grant said. "Don't take any offense, it's just that we don't want to leave any trails."

Kardac looked around again, then lowered his voice. "If you folks are headed to Comodo," he muttered. "Keep in mind that there are more ruins along the way, and plenty of chances for an ambush."

"How did you -"

"Just guessed, that's all," Kardac said. "Since you're heading westwards, and Comodo is one of the more popular attractions in that direction." The rogues were beginning to scatter.

"Funny music that clown plays," Zimba piped up, as the rogues walked off. "Ya'd think he's doin' it on purpose just to irritate."

"Alright you watch your backs now," Kardac called over his shoulder.

* * *

By the time they reached the outskirts of the ruins, the sun had already sat on the forested horizon in the distance. Another river awaited them, much larger than the first one, and with it, came a fresh breeze that wasn't typical of desert winds. They had arrived at the junction between the sandy outer reaches of the beach city Comodo, and the Morroc desert.

"Whew," Daphne sighed. "It looks like we've finally left the desert. I can see palm trees in the distance, and I'm pretty sure it's not a mirage."

"Argos," Grant said. "Did you notice any sign of that person on our trail on our way out of the ruins?"

The assassin shook his head. "It would be too hard to follow us with twenty rogues around," he said. "It was a good thing we ran into them."

They reached the bridge of the river when Grant suddenly froze. His voice was laced with an urgency that Daphne had never heard before.

"Turn back," he ordered.

"What!?" Eurie said. "Why?"

"No time for complaints, just do it!"

No sooner had he said those words, an assassin cross shimmered into sight and slammed his palms into Grant's chestplate. A violent discharge of purple energy erupted from the assassin cross's hands and knocked the paladin backwards.

"R-run," he groaned, then collapsed to the ground.

"Sir Graves!" Daphne screamed. _Oh God, oh God,_ she thought. _Just when things were starting to look up..._

"JUST RUN!" Argos bellowed. "IT'S THE FIRST RANKER REM -"

The assassin cross flung a handful of throwing knives at Argos; they buried into his stomach, causing him to fall to his knees. Blood spurted out of his mouth.

"Every one of you, running and hiding!" Remiel said, pulling down the cowl of his manteau. "Every time I kill, they try to run! Against me, the strongest assassin cross, it won't do any good!"


	12. Strongest Assassin

Well! I'm still alive! In case you folks thought I had dropped this fanfiction, I _haven't._ I've just been really really really busy with school and midterms and life. I don't know when I can finish the next chapter too. It could be next week, or it could be on Christmas break. But I **do **have something special planned coming up soon!

This chapter was really crazy to write. I had a lot of trouble laying it out, but I eventually managed! I hope you enjoy!

Edit: ARGH. What the effffffff. It's not letting me put those little divider thingies.... -_-  
Hold on a tick; I'll put asterisks or something so you know where the chapter is divided

* * *

_Sage Capital, Yuno_

It must have been through either fortuitous luck or a matter of minutes, that Tabby was able access the warp priest's services. She assumed that the church had not sent out the order for her capture yet; the priest did not give her a second glance when she gave him a fake name. Just as she had stepped into the blue portal of light, a messenger bearing the church emblem called out to the warp priest.

She was certain of it; that messenger came to tell the priest in charge of warping duties to bar her from any possible exits from Prontera, and now they knew where she was.

The Sage Capital Yuno was a bizarre defiance of physics and geography. It hovered roughly fifty feet above the ground on huge elevated pillars of craggy rock connected the platforms to the earth below; they seemed to chain the capital down, rather than support it in the air. The platforms themselves were linked to each other with thick stone bridges set with marble. At the distant entrance to the city, a broad, stable staircase climbed down to the ground; it was the only thing architecturally sensible about Yuno.

The professor fell into a brisk step, walking up to the entrance of the Yuno Academy, approaching the guard. Not too far behind her, she heard the tell-tale whirring of a warp portal teleporting members of the church to the designated coordinates of the Yuno drop-point.

"Your identification, please," the front guard started, but Tabby flashed him a handful of paperwork.

"You know who I am," she interrupted. "Now's not the time for this."

"Professor Williams," the guard said. "Even the academy staff is expected to follow all regula..." he caught sight of the small army marching up to the front gate. Tabby turn around, to catch a look at her pursuers.

_Oh, that's just fantastic. It's Salathiel and a squadron of monks. _"As I said earlier," the red haired professor stated. "Now's not the time."

"You're not allowed on Yuno academy grounds," the guard stated loudly to the monks. "That was part of the conditions your Pope agreed upon!"

"Certain situations call for extreme measures," Salathiel called. His white and yellow garb, on top of being different from the other monk's uniforms, had unique embroidery and a special cut. Only the most advanced of the monks were permitted to wear them, and they were given a new title to go along with their accomplishments. "As the Royal Justice of Monks, I, Salathiel Penmeyer, hereby order you to stand down and surrender yourself for questioning, Tabby Williams. I cannot guarantee your safety if you fail to cooperate," the champion said.

"Unfortunately, Mr. Penmeyer," Tabby said, smiling. "I'm afraid I can't do that." She grabbed the guard by his coat and ran into the doors of the academy, slamming them shut behind her. Around them, a few after-school students looked at their professor curiously, startled by the noise.

"W-what was that about?!" the guard exclaimed. "What have you done!?" Tabby didn't reply, choosing only to heave the large, wooden plank into the locking sleeve.

"Professor Williams?" a young alchemist girl said, holding her vanilmirth homunculus in her arms. She pushed her circular coke-bottle glasses up; they had slipped when Tabby slammed the gate shut.

"Hello Miss Cook," Tabby said, digging through her bag. "Now is not a good time." She pulled out what looked to be a small purse, drew out a handful of thin cobweb wisps and threw them towards the wooden plank. As she whispered a short incantation, the cobwebs glowed briefly and enlarged, cementing the seam of the double-doors and holding the plank in place.

"Fibre locks," she said. Heavy pounding from outside the academy rattled the gate. "They won't hold for long. Students!" the professor called, authoritatively. "Please keep calm and walk in an orderly fashion to your homeroom classrooms! The hallways soon will be deemed unfit for safety."

The various sage and alchemist students began whispering urgently to each other and hurried to the hallway leading to the classrooms. Caroline Cook gave Tabby one last look over her shoulder and joined the other students.

"Please alert the headmaster that the Royal Justice of Monks is trying to break into our academy," Tabby said to the guard. "We need to spread the news to the other professors and instructors: Get the students to their classrooms as soon as possible."

The guard nodded, as the wooden plank locking the gate began to splinter from the steady pounding. "It looks like you were right about the Pope, Professor Williams," he said.

"Go!" urged Tabby. She quickly climbed up the staircase leading to her office.

_Grant,_ she thought. _You should have given me more time..._

* * *

_Morroc Desert, West Fortress Saint Darmain_

They followed Grant Grave's advice. They ran for their lives, as quickly as they could, but the sheer weight of Remiel's presence pressed down upon their backs, clawing at their throats, grabbing at their limbs. Even though the distance from the assassin cross was increasing, the sense of danger was still razor sharp, never dulling.

"Where are we going?" Eurie panted, still holding onto Reinbach's hand and being dragged into a haphazard, staggering run by the young knight.

"Don't talk, just keep running!" Reinbach managed between breaths. Only a few steps behind them, Nicholas and Daphne followed closely behind.

"What about Richard and Sir Graves?" Daphne asked. They had just re-entered the ruins.

Reinbach grit his teeth together as he cut around one of the ruin walls. A horrible wrenching sensation began to boil in his gut.

"It's too late for them," he gasped. "We need to get to safety, NOW!"

"W-wait," Daphne said. "Nicholas, what are you doing?"

Despite the situation, Reinbach turned to look at the man. He was standing at the entrance of the ruins, with his harp drawn.

"Nick?" Eurie trembled.

Nicholas gestured for them to run on, then turned to face the bridge where Remiel had appeared.

"We can't leave you here!" Daphne cried. "Don't try to be some sort of hero- "

"We're running!" Reinbach said, grabbing Daphne with his other hand. He broke into a run, dragging both girls behind him.

"NICK!!" Eurie screamed. She began sobbing.

"JUST RUN!" Reinbach shouted. They ran into the twisting and turning labyrinth of the ruin walls, leaving behind Nicholas to delay Remiel for as long as possible.

"Kristoph," Daphne gasped. "We need to head back for Nicholas!"

"No," Reinbach wheezed, falling on his armored kneecaps. "What we need, is a plan." Neither of the girls responded to him; Eurie was still breathing hard and crying heavily, Daphne seemed too winded to argue with him.

"I'm sure if we stick together, we can manage to take him down," he continued. "He's only human; he can still die."

"But our opponent is an assassin cross," Daphne rasped. "The strongest one!"

"It's three against one here," Reinbach panted. "I'll distract him; out of the three of us, I have the best chance of surviving a head to head confrontation." He began to draw into the dirt on the ruins floor.

"Do you see these ruins around us?" he said, drawing lines into the ground representing the walls around them. "Daphne can stay out of sight around this corner, and still provide long ranged magic support. I'll try to bait him into these corridors here." He scratched another line into the ground. "Eurie, I know you're not comfortable with archery, but I- we _need_ you to do this. See this layout here?"

"K-Kristoph, it's okay," Daphne started. Eurie sniffled nervously.

"No, it's not okay," Reinbach argued, pointing at Eurie. "Right now, she needs to look at this drawing here, and tell me that she understands the plan."

"Kristoph, stop picking on her!"

"Listen! This isn't the time!"

"Kristoph! She's blind! She can't read the drawing!"

Reinbach froze.

"What?" He looked sharply at Eurie.

"I'm sorry, Eurie, I know this is your secret," Daphne said. "But she told me before we left Morroc and she apologized to me for all the trouble she was putting you through, Kristoph!"

Suddenly it clicked. Eurie's unusually clingy behavior, her clumsiness, her lack of awareness of her surrroundings, her inability to fire arrows. Now that Daphne mentioned it, it seemed strange that he didn't notice it before.

"What?" he repeated, even though he heard Daphne perfectly. "What do you mean, blind? How did she guide us as far as she did then?"

"It was N-Nick," Eurie sniffed. "He t-tells me where to go."

Reinbach shook his head. "That doesn't make any sense. He's mute! How could he tell you where to go?"

But before Eurie could respond, a shadow appeared over them.

"How unusual," Remiel's voice said from above. "A knight who doubts his comrades? A knight who leaves his comrades behind? Is this all I can expect from the famous Prontera Chivalry?"

The feeling in Reinbach's stomach disappeared as his insides froze and turned to lead. Daphne shrieked as Remiel jumped down from the top of broken-down wall on which he was crouching and landed in the midst of their group. His thoughts raced._ What happened to Nicholas?!_

"You're not my target, you're a boy," Remiel muttered, kicking Reinbach in the chest. The knight managed to block in time but the impact was enough to send him flying. He felt an excruciating crack in his wrist; he was sure it was broken. There wasn't much time to think about it though – the knight crashed into one of the ruin walls and coughed up blood.

"KRISTOPH!" Daphne screamed.

"You don't have long blonde hair," Remiel said, striking the back of Eurie's neck with a vicious chop. She collapsed without a sound, crumbling to the ground in a boneless lump. He turned and faced Daphne, drawing out a pair of Infiltrator katars. "So that leaves you, young missy." The assassin cross raised one of the Infiltrators blades high above his head. The light of the dying sun caught on the black metal of the katar.

* * *

_Sage Capital Yuno, Tabby William's Office_

It had to be here somewhere; usually her documents and other important paperwork were stored in the cabinet near the wall, but she might have placed this one in a different place because of its significance.

_There it was!_ She snatched up the corner of the document deep into one of the cabinets when the sound of knocking startled her.

"Professor?" a girl called through the door.

Tabby took a moment to collect herself; her heart had nearly lept out of her throat.

"What is it, Miss Cook?" she asked as she swung open her office door. The young alchemist pushed her glasses back up.

"Professor, they're after you, aren't they?" Caroline whispered, peeking down the hallway.

"I... er... well, yes, they are. Come on in." Tabby peered down both sides of the hallway and pulled Caroline inside by her shoulder. "They're probably going to check this office eventually, so you ought to escape through my window while you can. If you're seen walking out of my office... well, I don't want to drag you into anything unnecessary."

Tabby resumed her packing, shoving the document in her hand into a small traveling bag as Caroline sat down and watched. There was a muffled crash from somewhere downstairs and the sound of a few students screaming.

"No!" Tabby gasped. She grabbed the bag and rushed outside into the hallway.

"Come on out, Tabby Williams!" she heard Salathiel call from the main entrance. "I abhor using such methods, but every five minutes you do not heed my summons, I will kill one student!"

"Unforgivable!" Tabby muttered. She strode over to the staircase, cast a blue gemstone to the floor below and pointed a gnarled, wooden wand at the spell catalyst. For a brief moment, the monks and the students in the lobby couldn't help but to turn their attention to the airborne blue gemstone.

"Deluge!" she shrieked. Immediately after the incantation, a torrent of water flooded from the small crystal; much more than any object could hope to store, enough to fill a pool easily. She caught a glimpse of Salathiel holding a sage student in a headlock before the water crashed down upon them. It was enough to knock everyone down off their feet, even the students.

"Professor!" the young sage called. "Run for it!"

"After her!" Salathiel shouted, standing to his feet. Water dripped from his soaked uniform.

"Oh no you don't!" Tabby growled. "Frost Driver!"

A jet of blue light sparkled out of her wand and connected with the closest monk. His clothes froze immediately, icing his legs and feet to the floor, as well as the water in a one-foot radius around him.

"Frost Driver! Frost Driver!" Tabby shouted, casting the spell again and again, freezing one monk after another.

"Frost Nova!" the sage bellowed. Tabby caught a glimpse of the sage grasping a scroll in his hand before a flash of blue light blinded her.

When Tabby opened her eyes again, she saw that the young sage had frozen everything and everyone in the water, including himself. A thick blanket of mist settled over the icy figures.

"Good grief, Mr. Neptunia," she whispered. "To go as far as freezing yourself..."

"Professor!" Caroline called, running out of Tabby's office. "I've come to help! Oh!" She caught sight of the scene downstairs.

"I appreciate the offer, but as you can see, everything has been taken care of."

"There are still several monks inside the classrooms looking for you," said Caroline.

"They're just kids!" a monk's voice yelled from a classroom downstairs. "Just beat them a little- ARGH!"

Tabby smiled. "It looks like you've been taught well, students," she murmured.

There was a sudden, sharp cracking noise and Tabby whirled around to see Salathiel break out of his icy prison.

"You will regret your decision, Tabby Williams," he said, ripping his leg out of the crumbling ice. He shattered the ice around his other leg with his fist. "Yuno will be the first to suffer the retribution of God!"

"It's funny how that works," the professor replied. "Who gets to decide what God wants anyways?"

"Say what you will. Nothing will change the fact that your academy will be razed to the ground."

"And you can say what you'd like, but nothing will change the fact that four hundred students and faculty members are about to slaughter you and your men if you don't leave right now."

"You've been warned!" Salathiel threatened. He slammed his fist into the ice again, breaking everyone free. "We're leaving!" he bellowed. There was a scattering of pale blue lights as the champion and the monks teleported out of the room.

She let out a sigh that she didn't realize she was holding, and became conscious of the fact that nearly all the eyes of the students in the room were on her.

"Wh-what now, Professor?" Caroline asked. She was busy helping the wizard student up on his feet.

"As from now on, I don't believe I'm to be called a professor anymore," Tabby said. "Even if I'm not fired, my presence here will only lead to Prontera invading this academy again."

* * *

_Eight years prior, Morroc Slums_

This time, he was prepared. The dagger tucked away in his tattered sleeve had been stolen from the weapons forge before the blacksmith had shooed him away vexedly. He had even practiced with it a little; getting accustomed to the weight, the length and the edge, resulting in a few cuts and nicks on his fingers. After he felt a little more comfortable with handling the weapon, he had stared into his dull reflection in the blade of the knife for a long time. His own red irises stared back at him. They bore the scars of a life surrounded by death. Bitter, cold, and apathetic.

Richard forced himself to pay attention to his surroundings. He was hiding under a large section of cloth along the row of buildings on the street where he had met the assassin the previous day. If he could manage to sneak up behind the man, he would be able to stab him in the vitals, snatching his revenge. That was the number one drive motivating him as of now; he could die without regrets once he accomplished this.

There was a flash of gray in the street in front of him. _That cloak!_ He was close now, so very close. He could almost taste the man's blood; his heart was beating so fast and hard that he thought it was a miracle that the assassin couldn't hear it. Only a few feet away and the dagger would seek warmth in that man's flesh!

The man turned around, showing his back to Richard. _It's now or never!_

He slipped out from under the cloth and sprinted towards the his mother's killer, taking care not to cause any overly large noises. At the last possible moment, he thrust the point into the man's kidneys from behind. Before he knew it, the knife clattered to the ground below and his arm was twisted painfully behind his back. He grit his teeth together, refusing to cry out.

"Oho... what have we here?" the assassin mused. "You almost managed to sneak up behind me. You even brought a knife with you! That's quite remarkable. Congratulations." He tripped Richard's feet and dropped him to the ground. Richard felt his face collide with the dirt and coughed as dust went into his mouth. "But your knowledge of anatomy and vitals is pitifully lacking, I'm afraid," he continued. "We're going to have to work on that." He planted a boot on Richard's spine and picked up the dagger.

"This," he said, stabbing the point into the boy's back. Richard couldn't help himself; he screamed in pain; it felt as though a searing hot poker was digging into his flesh. "Is where you were aiming. There are no vital organs here and whoever you're trying to kill will not easily die if you managed to stab- do try to keep quiet, I'm attempting to teach you something important." He pulled out the dagger and twirled it in his fingers.

"Low marks today," he said. "Any assassin worth his salt can endure a shallow wound like this easily. I was expecting something – "

"Go to hell," Richard gasped, breathing heavily. The assassin paused, his face expressionless.

"That's 'go to hell, _instructor_,' for you, young man," he corrected. "Back to the lesson. Now this on the other hand," he stabbed another spot on Richard's back. The boy screamed out again, his voice hoarse from earlier. "This spot _does_ have a vital organ, you'd do your best to remember this. Make sure that when you try this later, you stab deeper because a shallow stab like this won't kill anyone. Now, we're going to have to pace ourselves today, we've got a lot of ground to cover."

* * *

_West Fortress Saint Darmain, Present Day_

Argos staggered to his feet, coughing blood. The three knives sticking out of his stomach drooped painfully, blood running down their lengths.

_He scraped one vital organ,_ he thought. _I need to treat this quickly... _Pulling out a glass vial of thick yellow liquid from his bag, he bit into the cork stopper and yanked it out. A little of the fluid sloshed out, spilling on the ground.

Gritting his teeth together, he slid the daggers out of his stomach and grunted in pain; blood trickled freely down his clothes; now that the blades were out, there was nothing stemming the blood flow. He had to do this before he lost too much blood. He threw his head back and chugged on the yellow potion; the bitter, burning taste almost made him gag and his eyes water, but he swallowed it thirstily regardless. The remaining liquid he poured onto the wounds on his belly, causing the wounds to smoke and froth slightly. The bleeding stopped.

_If there's one thing good about my training eight years ago, it's the fact that it kept me alive all this time._ He reached into his bag again, pulled out a reel of bandages and began wrapping his lower abdomen over the knife wounds.

A few feet away from him, Grant Graves lay on his back, unconscious. He had taken a Soul Breaker in the chest, the strongest of assassin cross attacks. It was a fusion of mental and physical energies and required both mental and physical defenses to survive a direct hit. Argos couldn't say whether the paladin was tremendously durable or just plain lucky. Either way, it didn't look like the man would be waking up any time soon.

He needed to let Grant know that he would be gone. Argos walked over to the paladin's body and neatly laid down his icicle katars, pointing to the direction where Remiel had chased their other four companions. But now he needed another weapon. It seemed like only yesterday when Spider was telling him to be prepared for all battles.

"_Having a specialty is great and all, but variety is just as vitally important,"_ Spider had said.

"I haven't forgotten, Spider," Argos muttered. He walked to the discarded daggers and picked them up. They were Moonlight daggers, forged into a curvy, pointed blade.

It was show time.

* * *

_Morroc Desert, West Fortress Saint Darmain_

Reinbach watched helplessly amidst the rubble as Remiel shifted his feet into a killing stance. Daphne was as frozen as he was, staring fearfully into the assassin cross's face as he began to strike.

"S-stop," the young knight called weakly. "Stop it..." He forced himself to his feet, propping up his body with his Zephyrus spear.

Remiel turned his head to look at the Reinbach.

"I don't really bother to kill anyone who's not my target," muttered the assassin cross. "But if you get in my way, I'll kill you."

"I won't... let you," Reinbach rasped, pulling out his Zweihander from the sheath on his back with his left hand. His right hand was still supporting his weight with the Zephurus. He was conscious of how crippled he looked right then; left hand dragging the sword in the ground, right hand hanging onto the spear.

Remiel shook his head from side to side.

"All the other assassin crosses call me paranoid," he said. "But even I can safely say that you can't do a thing to me in your state."

Suddenly, a lilting, sorrowful melody danced about the corridors around them. To everyone's alarm, Remiel stopped his attack and doubled over in pain, grabbing his head with his hands, eyes screwed shut.

"AAAAarrrrgh!" he screamed. "My head!!"

"Th-this music," Daphne said, scanning the walls for the clown. "It's Nicholas!"

It was impossible to tell where the music was coming from. The acoustics of the ruins around them reflected the music endlessly, reverberating, echoing. It was only when the clown appeared from around the west corner was Daphne able to discern his location.

"Nicholas!" Daphne called. "You were alive!"

Whether the clown could have answered or not, he had no time. The assassin cross Remiel staggered to his feet with one hand still clutching his head. He pulled out a skull shaped glass bottle hanging from his belt.

"Nicholas, is it?" he panted. He drank the red liquid from the bottle and readied an attacking stance, ignoring Daphne. "So that's the name of the monster who haunts my nightmares!" he yelled, sprinting to the other man. His veins began bulging, a symptom of the red poison he had just drunk.

"What?" Reinbach managed. "What is he talking about?"

"IF I KILL YOU, WILL I FIND PEACE!?" Remiel howled.

Nicholas, being unable to say anything, nimbly evaded Remiel's lightning fast attacks, often parrying the lighter ones with his harp. Apparently, it was made to be much more durable than it seemed.

"SAY SOMETHING!" the assassin cross roared. He lunged forward for another thrust but quickly switched directions by dashing backwards. A dagger whizzed past his leg, scraping his thigh and buried itself in the dirt. Remiel glanced to the right above him.

"That's your dagger, have it back!" Argos said from atop the wall.

"Stay out of this!" Remiel snarled. "Die like you're supposed to!"

"Death hasn't knocked on my door yet!" the assassin countered. He lifted up a skull-shaped glass bottle filled with red liquid. "He's looking at you!"

"Y-you fool! If you drink that you'll die!"

"I SAID, HE'S LOOKING AT YOU!!" Argos roared. He threw his head back and chugged down the red poison.

The effects were immediate. His veins began bulging, pulsing with each quick heartbeat. His pupils dilated slightly, and his breath turned ragged and harsh. But he was still standing.

"He's... still standing..." Daphne said. "How is he still standing?"

Argos jumped from his spot on the wall and kicked off so hard that the cracks formed in the stone and collided with Remiel. The assassin cross had barely managed to block the attack in time, struggling to bear both the assassin's combined momentum and strength with his Infiltrators.

"What..."

Releasing the grip to the Drill Katars, Argos snatched up Remiel's Moonlight daggers that he had pulled from his own stomach and continued his attack. Remiel parried each swing, but the man began slowing down. The boosts of the deadly poison he drank earlier seemed to be wearing off.

"...the..."

Argos release the daggers and grabbed the handles to his Drill katars, which had not yet begun their descent to the ground, and continued his relentless assault on Remiel.

"...hell!?" Reinbach exclaimed. He couldn't believe the display of speed before his eyes. In the time it took for him to say three words, Remiel and Argos had exchanged more attacks than he could keep track.

Remiel winced and grabbed his head again.

"It's time to DIE!" Argos bellowed, swinging downwards to Remiel's face.

"No!" Remiel cursed. He snatched up the discarded Moonlight dagger on the ground and blocked the Drill Katar inches before it connected with his face. "You got lucky today, newbie. Look forward to our next meeting!"

With that, he pushed Argos backwards and sprinted away, disappearing around the corner of the maze.

The black haired assassin didn't even turn to watch Remiel run. He stood there, panting heavily, until he collapsed to the ground.

"It's over," Reinbach panted. The attack had seriously devastated their group, but what mattered is that Daphne was still alive. "You okay?" he asked her.

"Yeah..." Daphne responded quietly. "We should check on the others."

"How is he?" Reinbach asked Nicholas, gesturing to Argos. The clown was checking the young man's vitals, listening carefully to his pulse. Nicholas could only nod in response, confirming that Argos was still alive.

"Well then, let's get going." Even if Daphne was still alive, the remaning journey had grim prospects. With Captain Graves possibly dead, three injured and only two remaining fighters, he didn't see how they could reach Comodo.


	13. Political Predicament

My finals were evil, I tell you. EVIL!! AAAAARGH STUPID MATH 21C! But now, I'm just glad they're over with. Hohohohohohohohohohohoho....

This chapter focuses a bit less on our Comodo-bound group, and more on Tabby and the political workings of Yuno Academy. Just a little heads up.

FireyFlames: I'd planned for Eurie to be blind a long time ago. In fact, I had the idea for a blind character even before I thought of Eurie. :P Now, the question is whether or not I pulled it off successfully (i.e. whether or not it sounds like I pulled it out of my ass). In fact, if you read some of the earlier scenes in which she appears, you might catch some small clues.

Seiyo: HOPEFULLY YOU'LL BECOME ANOTHER MINIO- I MEAN ADDIC- I MEAN READER. :) Here is the next chapter as I said! ~('-' ~)

Wow I feel hyper.

* * *

_Morroc Orphanage, Eight hours ago_

"The truth is, I am blind; I have been for years," Eurie said, gesturing to herself. "I have a difficult time traversing around Morroc, so I often need someone to guide me. And holding onto my brother's arm in public... well that would send quite the wrong image."

Daphne was at loss for words. She couldn't believe what the dancer was telling her. Was it some sort of joke in bad taste? Did she get some sort of perverse rush from taunting her like this? She opened her mouth to counter with a sarcastic, cutting remark when she realized something.

"You're... really telling the truth, aren't you?" she asked slowly. "You've never once looked me directly in the eye. You seem unsure about your surroundings."

"As a result, I ended up holding onto your boyfriend's arm for support; everything is my fault. I am very sorry for the misunderstanding."

"B-boyfriend!?" Daphne yelped softly. She turned red

"Am I wrong?"

"Kristoph and I are just f-friends..." the young witch said, still a little flushed. "We've just known each other for a long time."

"Is that so?" Eurie beamed. "Then that's a relief!"

But there was a nagging question at the back of her head that she could not help but voice.

"Wait, so if you are blind, then how do you expect to guide us to Comodo?" asked Daphne.

"Nicholas tells me where to go and where to step. He functions as my eyes as we travel."

"But... he's..." Daphne had trouble saying the word. It seemed a little... _tactless_.

"Ah... yes, he can't speak," Eurie said, looking downwards. "To work around that problem, the two of us have developed a type of musical code. As long as I can hear the pitches, he can tell me through his harp."

"That's..." Daphne breathed.

"It's sad, isn't it?" Eurie sighed.

"...I was about to say amazing," responded Daphne. "Remarkable!"

"Please keep it a secret," the dancer whispered. "Although you may find it amazing, we do have a reputation to uphold as guides. It is difficult for a blind and mute pair of guides to find work."

Daphne discovered a newfound respect in the brother-sister pair. She had initially assumed the dancer was some sort of klutzy bimbo who used her body to wind men around her little finger. But instead, here was a young woman who managed to overcome a profound hardship with ingenuity and hard work (how difficult it must be for a blind girl to learn dance steps!) and constantly displayed a smile and minded her manners. Not to mention that it must have been frustrating and overwhelming for a blind girl and her mute brother to communicate enough to develop a musical code.

"How... how did you do it?" Daphne asked disbelievingly. "How did you manage so much?"

For a second, she saw a sense of weariness in Eurie's face before the dancer smiled again.

"Well!" Eurie said. "Whenever I felt particularly tired, I would just force a smile!" She placed her index fingers on her cheeks. "I can't help but feel better each time I do it."

"I'm sorry. I must apologize," Daphne said. "I have to admit that I thought less of you when I first saw you. I let my emotions rather than my head judge you."

"No, no it's quite alright," Eurie dismissed lightly. "It's quite understandable considering your position."

They stood in silence in each other's presence for a moment, lost in their thoughts.

"Could you tell me what sort of man Sir Graves is?" Eurie asked. "Since I feel wrong holding onto Kristoph's arm for guidance – "

"Oh, no, I can't have that," Daphne interrupted quickly. "Please, use Kristoph in whatever way you feel like. Have him carry you if you should so need. Besides, Sir Graves is engaged; it wouldn't do to hold onto his arm."

"Oh, that is wonderful!" Eurie smiled. "Would you happen to know when the wedding takes place?"

"It's been delayed a long time because of their work, but I suspect within the next year," Daphne said.

They fell silent again.

"I have a favor to ask of you," Eurie started.

"Of course!"

"If it's not too much could you tell me about the people whom we are traveling with? It is not often that I find the chance to know my traveling companions. I feel as though I can know them better when someone describes them to me."

Daphne smiled.

"Well, Kristoph Reinbach, my childhood friend is a knight," she began. "He's eighteen seasons old, has short blond hair and gray eyes. He might have gotten the wrong impression of you and it looks like the two of you started off on the wrong foot, but usually, he is very courteous and gentlemanly."

"Oooh, congratulations," Eurie said. "He sounds very handsome."

"I-It's nothing like that," Daphne said, hoping that her red face didn't show in her voice. "Now Captain Grant Graves, on the other hand, is a paladin in his mid twenties..."

* * *

_Morroc Desert, West Fortress Saint Darmain, present_

They must have seemed like a sorry bunch; quite literally half-dead, staggering out of the ruins of Fortress Saint Darmain. Daphne, although uninjured, could barely stand by herself; her knees felt weak and trembled incessantly. Reinbach was half-carrying, half-dragging Argos, with the assassin's arm slung over his shoulders, while Nicholas carried in his arms Eurie's unconscious body. Daphne could see Grant Grave's unmoving form laying sideways at entrance to the bridge. There was a long fissure behind him where Remiel's Soul Breaker had shot through the paladin's back.

Without warning, Nicholas collapsed to his knees, clutching his stomach tightly. Eurie fell to the sand with a muffled thump.

"Nicholas!" Reinbach cried. He dropped Argos unceremoniously to the ground and limped towards the clown. Daphne herself was quick to follow.

Nicholas had his hands pressed tightly against his abdomen. He gave quick, labored breaths, his eyes began to gloss over, and beads of sweat formed on his face.

"What's wrong!?" she asked quickly, before she remembered that Nicholas could not respond to her.

The clown mouthed the words _poison_ before falling straight on his face into the sand.

"No!" cried Daphne. She rolled the man over onto his back and caught sight of a small gash along the front of his tunic. An inch-long scrape sat between his left fifth and sixth rib. "This must be from Remiel!" she said. "He even poisoned his weapons!"

"We shouldn't try to move him too much," Reinbach said. "We don't want to spread the poison any more than it already has."

"Then what do we do?" She saw Reinbach bite his lower lip in anxiety.

"We'll have to get our injured to a place where they can rest," he sighed. "After that, we'll have to wait for Captain Graves to wake up so he can begin healing us."

* * *

_Yuno, Sage Academy Faculty Meeting_

_Why does it seem like I'm always waiting?_

Tabby tapped her fingers irritatedly on the wooden grain of the huge, circular desk in the faculty meeting room. There were seven chairs placed evenly around the desk, and only six of them were currently occupied. Another professor, sitting across from her, cleared his throat impatiently and crossed his arms.

As if on cue, the door to the faculty meeting room burst open and a befuddled-looking biochemist rushed into the room, with disheveled clothes and equally fly-away salt-and-pepper hair. He was out of breath. He adjusted the laboratory goggles over the glasses on his face with a chemical-stained glove and strode to the empty chair at the desk.

"Sorry I'm late everyone, I was busy – "

"Researching, yes, we know," the impatient professor across from Tabby said. "But do try to make it a habit of arriving to faculty meetings on time."

"Will do, will do, Professor Whitmoore," the biochemist said, sitting down. He straightened the brown collar to his shawl and smoothed out his shirt.

"Were you not informed by the student we sent to your office, Dr. Jacoby?" a male high wizard, in his seventies croaked. The long, white beard hanging from his chin dangled as he spoke. His receding hairline and wrinkled face spoke volumes about his age, and the length of his white hair was equally impressive.

High wizards were the highest ranking of the wizards and witches; pinnacles of the magic casting community, rivaled only by professors. The destructive might unleashed from their wands and staves were enough to level forests, if particularly potent. Although it was rumored that High Wizard Marbury in his prime was capable of such feats, he spent his days serving as a representative of the Wizard Association of Geffen and liaison for the Yuno Sage Academy. His days of leveling forests and wreaking magical destruction were long gone.

"Student?" Dr. Jacoby asked. He shifted upwards the laboratory goggles and wiped his fogged-up glasses with his gloved finger. Then, whether by habit or on purpose, the biochemist placed the goggles back over his eyes. "Student... student... Oh yes! Well, I did make it clear during my classes that I would rather not be bothered during my research hours, unless it was a matter of dire emergency – "

As Dr. Jacoby spoke, Professor Whitmoore clenched his hands tighter and tighter until he slammed his fist into the desk. His blue floor-length sleeve, a standard piece of the professor uniform, fluttered softly. Tabby stopped fiddling with the corner of her own red, gold-embroidered sleeve at the sight of this.

"It _was_ a matter of dire emergency, you dolt!" Whitmoore snapped, interrupting the biochemist, voicing what Tabby wanted to say.

"Emergen... wh-what? What happened? What's going on?" Jacoby stammered. He looked utterly lost.

"If you would have stuck your head out of your lab for one moment to listen to the ruckus above," another professor said, a woman in her forties. "You would have realized that the academy was being attacked."

"Attacked!" yelped Jacoby. "Who? Why?"

"The Prontera church," High Wizard Marbury said, in his feeble old voice. "More particularly, a small faction of monks led by the Champion Penmeyer. He took several students hostage and demanded the surrender of Professor Tabby Williams for questioning, on the Pope's orders."

Jacoby fell silent, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

"We currently have four reported students with minor injuries, one student unconcious, and one student unaccounted for," another biochemist said, this one a woman the same age as Tabby. She slid him a sheet of paper. "I believe all of your students are unharmed, Franz."

"That's a relief to know," Jacoby sighed, adjusting the goggles on his face again as he scanned the paper. "Er, I mean it's still terrible that other students were attacked. Whose student was unconscious?"

"He would be mine," Tabby said, the first words she spoke in the meeting. "Tolby Neptunia should be waking up in a few hours; he used a Frost Nova magic scroll and ended up freezing himself and his captors."

"Now that we're all on the same page," the other female professor, Professor Leander started, shooting a mixed look of disapproval and resignation at Jacoby. "We can commence with the executive decision that this academy will take regarding the incident a few hours ago."

"Regarding our missing student," Marbury murmured. "I believe it was Caroline Cook? Yes, Dr. Gianino's student. What is your suggested course of action?"

"We need to send letters to all the parents immediately," Dr. Gianino, the female biochemist said. "Some students believe that Miss Cook was last seen escorting Mr Neptunia to the infirmary, but she seems to have disappeared completely after that."

"I asked her to take Mr. Neptunia to the infirmary after the monks teleported out of Yuno academy," Tabby said. "Rest assured, she was not taken as a hostage."

"The one who lives with her grandmother?" Professor Leander asked. "I'm sure she'll be worried sick if she hears about this. Wouldn't it be better if we hold off on sending those letters until we've found her?"

"I agree," Marbury said. A general murmur of consent floated around the desk. "Then there's the matter of Tolby Neptunia," he continued. "He has attacked Salathiel Penmeyer and his men. This is legally considered an affront to the church."

"We will have to decide whether this would be ruled a independent action or whether we shall take responsibility for Mr. Neptunia's actions," Dr. Gianino sighed.

"Independent action," Dr. Jacoby said, almost immediately. "We don't want to rouse Prontera's ire because of one student's decisions."Professor Whitmoore glared daggers at the biochemist. Tabby had a feeling she knew exactly what the other professor was thinking.

"I say we take responsibility," the older professor said. "By all rights, Mr. Neptunia was acting out in justifiable self-defense. How can we –"

"Professor Whitmoore," High Wizard Marbury wheezed. "It is your vote that matters right now; your opinion can wait. Dr. Gianino?"

Whitmoore scowled, then leaned back in his chair.

"Independent action," Dr. Gianino said, after a long pause.

"We need to assume responsibility," Professor Leander cut in.

"Independent action," a hooded high wizard deadpanned, his first words the entire meeting.

"Assume responsibility," Tabby said.

"I see," High Wizard Marbury said. "Then with my vote that Mr. Neptunia has acted out as an individual, it is decided that Yuno Academy will not assume responsibility for his actions. As he is not sanctioned by Yuno Academy to defend its grounds as he sees fit, he will be expelled."

Tabby rubbed her temples; she could feel the early stages of a powerful migraine.

"Now onto the question of whether we should keep the academy running in light of this recent event. Professor Whitmoore?"

"Close it," he said tersely. "We never know when those ruffians will attack again. We can't risk putting our students in danger now that we know they want to take Professor Williams in."

High Wizard Marbury turned his gaze to Professor Leander.

"I agree with Professor Whitmoore," she said. "Unfortunately, we will have to close the academy until this whole issue with Prontera is resolved. Close the academy."

"High Wizard Expagarus?"

The other high wizard, the hooded man in his fifties had been silent for most of the meeting.

"Close it," Expagarus said. "I'll try to convince the Geffen Wizard Association to transfer our students there."

"Dr. Jacoby," Marbury turned to the biochemist. The biochemist seemed as if he had trouble saying his vote.

"I'm sorry to bring this up, so sorry," he started, wiping his glasses clean again. "Sorry, but isn't there an easy way to avoid having to close down the academy? There's a simple solution, quite simple."

"Pray, do tell," the old high wizard said.

"Well, going by my understanding of the situation thus far," Jacoby muttered, "And the facts listed here on this paper, it appears that the Prontera Church would have liked to take in Professor Williams for questioning."

The acrid taste of bile rose in the back of Tabbys throat. The other staff members were beginning to look at Jacoby with alarm and incredulity.

_Oh no, he wouldn't. He wouldn't dare say it..._

"What I'm saying is all Professor Williams needed to do is quietly follow them to Prontera and we could have avoided this entire – "

There was a loud bang as Professor Whitmoore slammed his fists into the desk again. Magical energies sizzled and crackled down the length of his arms, causing the wood finish under his knuckles to smolder. A crack formed in the wood of his portion of the desk.

"Do you even have any idea of what you are suggesting, Jacoby!?" he almost shouted. "They broke their end of the agreement, and you want to hand over to them one of us!?"

"Let's not get out of control here," Marbury insisted.

Jacoby looked alarmed at Whitmoore's outburst.

"Surely, you're not suggesting that we aggravate Prontera needlessly?" the biochemist responded.

"You're just saying that because you've benefited so much from the Pope's rulings regarding homunculi research!" Professor Leander accused.

"Now, now," Marbury wheezed. "Let's not get in over our heads."

"My dear Professor Leander," said Jacoby. "That is quite a serious accusation you are throwing at me."

"Because it's true!" Tabby finally burst out. "You've only stopped your research for the first time today because of this meeting right now!"

"Now see here, Professor Williams," Jacoby countered. "I'll be the first to admit that I've gained a great deal because of the Pope's rulings, a great deal, but you need to look at the situation here with an impartial perspective, see."

"Impartial, my – "

"Now, now," Marbury repeated mildly. "Let's settle down and cool our heads, shall we?"

"If you'd have gone quietly with Mr. Salathiel in the first place, young Mr. Neptune wouldn't be in the infirmary right now, would he?"

"It's Neptunia!" Gianino corrected.

"If the Prontera church hadn't broken their end of the agreement, then we wouldn't be having this meeting at all!" Professor Whitmoore snarled.

"SILENCE, YOU GREEN SAPLINGS!" High Wizard Marbury roared, slashing his wand downward. There was a deafening _krakoom_ and the smell of burnt ozone permeating their nostrils. The round desk snapped cleanly in half before collapsing to the ground.

The following silence was broken only by the lingering, sizzling, magical energy sparking from Marbury's wand.

"It is clear that we cannot have a civilized discussion amongst ourselves," the old high wizard rumbled, glaring dangerously at the other faculty members. "Perhaps it is long due for a discussion of staff reformation. This meeting will be adjourned for twenty minutes. Take your time and reflect upon your allegiances and your purpose here!"

* * *

_West of Morroc Desert_

They had long since passed Morroc Desert; the endless expanses of sand turned into scattered splotches of lush tropical foliage, and in the distance, Reinbach could hear the sound of waves lapping against the shore and smell the salty ocean breeze.

It had been tiring, but he and Daphne managed to carry their unconscious and wounded across the bridge where Remiel had ambushed them, to a shaded clearing not too far from the beach. From there, the murmuring of the stream under the bridge could be heard, roughly a ten minute walk's distance. They lay the bodies of Grant, Eurie, Argos and Nicholas on a large cloth next to a tree, then sat down for a break.

"...Is your arm alright?" Daphne asked. She looked concerned.

"It'll be okay," replied the knight. He looked down at his right wrist and tried to rotate it slowly, before a hiss of pain escaped from his mouth.

"I-It's broken, isn't it?" she asked. "And you're right handed. When Remiel kicked you, I thought I heard something crack."

"There's nothing to be done about this wrist for now," Reinbach stated, shaking his head. "More importantly, we need to wake up Captain Graves, if we want him to start healing our injured."

"He's... he's injured also..." said Daphne sadly. "We're the only two who are even awake."

"I'll bring us some water," Reinbach said, standing up with a grunt.

"Shouldn't I be..."

"No!" Reinbach said firmly, allowing no room for argument. "It's dangerous! What if Remiel comes back?"

"But your wrist – "

"Not a chance! I'll be back in twenty minutes. Stay quiet and out of sight."

* * *

_Yuno Academy_

Tabby trudged out of the faculty meeting room. It was inevitable; there was no way she could remain at the academy considering all that had happened to it.

"I guess all that's left is to finish packing my belongings and leave," she muttered.

No wait, that wasn't exactly right. She supposed she ought to pay her former student in the infirmary a visit. Tolby Neptunia was in her tutelage after all.

It wasn't before long when she found herself at the entrance to the infirmary. Taking a deep breath to prepare herself for anything, she pushed open the door.

"That's when I thought to myself, 'This could be my final moments,'" a young man's voice said. "I reached into my satchel and whipped out the Frost Nova scroll I purchased the other day and quickly ripped it open, roaring 'FROST NOVA!'"

Young Tolby Neptunia was sitting up in his bed, giving a blow-by-blow narration of his encounter with the Royal Justice of Monks, to a pair of female students by his bed. His animated, violet irises sparkled excitedly as he flipped a mop of black bangs to the side of his face. In the corner of the room behind a curtain, Caroline Cook sat on a stool, making small mumbling sounds as she slept. Her thick, round glasses were in danger of falling off her face, but the gelatinous vanilmirth in her arms kept pushing them back up the bridge of her nose.

Tabby buried her face into her palms. She had almost felt worried for the two of them! Unconscious and missing students on the minds of faculty, and here they were, carelessly oblivious to the situation on hand!

"What am I going to do with you?" she sighed. Tolby and the other two female students, one an alchemist and the other a witch, stopped talking and turned their attention to the professor.

"Oh hello Professor Williams!" Tolby said. "Would you care to listen to my story?" He returned his attention to the two students by his beside. "Professor Williams here came charging out of her office to my rescue, wringing down frost drivers as I was being held captive! I assure you, she was quite frightening, the perfect picture of retribution."

"Now's not the time for that," Tabby said. "Are you aware of the political ramifications of you actions?"

"Eh?" Tolby's smile faltered.

"You've attacked the newly sanctioned Royal Justice of Monks and his squadron. Did you think that Prontera would turn a blind eye to this?"

Tolby gaped at his professor, his half-smile still on his face. His cool facade was slipping away.

"Wh-what?" he asked. "What's going to happen to me now?" The two other young women slipped out of the infirmary.

"The other staff members have ruled your actions as independent and opted to expel you from the academy. You need to gather your possessions from your dorm by the end of today. Who knows when Prontera will come looking for us again."

"Expelled?" he protested. "But... but what's Prontera going to do to me... wait, you said 'us?'"

"Yes, I did," Tabby said. "I've resigned from the academy. Our presences in the school will only bring Prontera's attention here again."

"W-wait, so what are you going to do?"

"What am _I_ going to do?" Tabby said. "Well, first of all, I'm going to go visit Lutie. I've always wanted to go there."

"Lutie?" Tolby asked, his voice growing more panicked. "Why there of all places? What about Prontera!?"

"Because I like snow. Now, since you _were_ my student, I suppose I have some sort of fleeting obligation to protect you, but it's not required anymore since I'm no longer an instructor here. Besides, it would be a pain to protect someone who's isn't close by – "

"Pleasetakemewithyou," Tolby said quickly.

_That was faster than expected._

Tabby crossed her arms and put a contemplative look on her face._ I'm having too much fun here_, she thought wickedly.

"Well..." she said, drawing out the syllable. "Two people travel slower than one..."

"I'll do anything!" he pleaded urgently.

_Just as planned._

She stared at him for a few moments wordlessly, as if appraising him.

"Fine."

"Really?" His eyes shone brightly.

"Under one condition. From here on out, you must follow my ever word if you expect to survive. Have your possessions packed as soon as you can and we'll depart for the skyport immediately afterwards."

* * *

_West of Morroc Desert_

The water-skin hanging from Reinbach's belt sloshed sluggishly with each step he took, almost in tempo with the throbbing ache in his broken right wrist. Perceus Green's Zweihander felt awkward and cumbersome in his uninjured left hand. It was for all intents and purposes meant to be a two-handed weapon; wielding it effectively in battle with only his non-dominant hand would be out of the question. He could only hope to intimidate weaker-willed attackers away with a fierce glare.

It left him feeling hopelessly inadequate.

"I should have brought my Zephyrus instead..." he grumbled. It was lighter than the Zweihander.

Even if Captain Graves woke up before the sun set to set his bone and heal his wrist, it would still take at least two weeks for the arm to be completely recovered from damage; without magic, twice as long. The healing magic available to acolytes, crusaders and paladins was helpful, but no substitute for proper rest and recovery. Although healing magic might mend broken bones, some pain would still linger and the bone would be prone to re-fracturing under duress.

In the distance, he saw a young woman's figure sitting up against a tree; next to her lay a couple of bodies.

"Daphne!" he called. The young woman turned her head to face him.

_No... that's Eurie. She's already awake?_

He looked for Daphne but saw her no where near the clearing. Swearing, he broke into a harried run, the jostle of each pace reminding him of his broken limb.

"Hello, Kristoph!" she called, beaming. "Something good happened while you were away!"

"Nevermind that," he demanded. "Where did Daphne disappear off to?"

"Well, that's the thing," she said. "When I came to, it seems as if Spider met up with us and took her to a safer location!"

His vision swam.

"This is some sort of bad joke, isn't it?" he said in a low voice.

"Huh?"

"Of course it is," Reinbach went on. "There's no way _anyone_ could be stupid enough to believe that Spider would come along and hide Daphne."

"But –"

"SPIDER'S DEAD!" He slammed his left fist into the tree trunk. Eurie cringed.

"H-he said –"

"YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT HE LOOKED LIKE! YOU'VE NEVER EVEN MET HIM! YOU'RE BLIND, FOR GODSSAKE!"

There was never a moment when Reinbach wanted to hit a girl more; it took every ounce of his willpower to stay his hand. He clenched his fist tighter, to the point he could almost feel his fingernails digging into his palm through his glove. Eurie's dark blue irises began to shimmer; tears began to fall from the corners of her eyes as she began to cry.

He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair.

"What happened?"

The dancer sniffled a couple of times.

"Ab-about five minutes ago, when I came to, I heard some footsteps not too far away. I didn't know who it was, so I asked him. He told me he was Spider."

"Well he lied!" Reinbach snapped. Eurie continued to cry quietly.

"Then why did he take Daphne away?" she asked finally.

Reinbach's head raced. The only people that were after them, or more particularly, Daphne, were either knights and crusaders, or assassins.

"When you heard that man," Reinbach said. "Did you hear anything else? Maybe the clinking of armor plates?"

She paused for a moment, in thought.

"No... I didn't hear a-anything of the sort."

_If he wasn't wearing armor, then that means the man was an assassin... Come to think of it, didn't Argos mention something earlier? He said 'I think we're being followed,'at the Zimba fellow... what had he said again?_

"_Actually, maybe an assassin cross if yer assassin here haven't seen 'im yet. Assassins have a sense for assassins, ya see."_

A chill ran down his spine. If that man had been an assassin cross, he wouldn't waste any time in killing Daphne.

"Shit!" he swore. "He must have known about our plan!"

"What plan?" asked Eurie.

"Which way did he go?" Reinbach demanded, ignoring her question.

She pointed vaguely inland, into the denser part of the foliage.

"I th-think he w-went in that direction."

Without a word, Reinbach hurried off through the trees.

* * *

_Yuno Skyport_

"Professor Williams?" Tolby asked. "Didn't you say we were going to Lutie?"

"Yes, I did."

"Then... why did we buy tickets to Jawaii Islands?" he asked. They were standing at the boarding gate of one of the airships at the skyport in Yuno.

"Quiet!" she ushered.

Tolby's eyes widened. "Don't tell me you want to whisk me away to Jawaii so you can marry me?"

She felt like stabbing something. Her wand was somewhat blunt; maybe if she used enough force...

"Oh, the scandal!" he gasped, holding his hand to his forehead. "I'm flattered, but what will my parents say about me marrying my professor?"

"Oh, shut up and board, will you?" Tabby growled irritably. "Besides, I'm already engaged."

"She's engaged!" he said breathlessly to no one in particular. "Do they allow polygamy in Jawaii? I'm only a minor, but please be gentle!"

"We're not going to Jawaii," she hissed. "Now shut up!"

"Eh?" Tolby said. He almost sounded disappointed.

Yuno Skyport was one of several skyports located around several cities spread around the continent of Rune Midgard. Although traveling by airship was nowhere near as instantaneous as warping, some travelers enjoyed making use of their services, to enjoy an eagle-eye's view of the land beneath them. The airships that ferried passengers from skyport to skyport were manifestations of the pinnacle of engineering; many of the continent's most brilliant minds had gathered together to develop the blueprints.

They boarded the airship and took their seats near the back. Not long afterwards, the captain of the airship announced their preparations for departure; and the engines began to rumble.

"I said we were headed to Lutie, in the infirmary because I didn't know if there were any eavesdroppers," Tabby explained. "We're actually headed to Comodo."

"But this airship arrives in Jawaii," Tolby pointed out. "Why didn't we just buy tickets directly to Comodo if we're headed there?"

Just one little stab; she wouldn't be too particularly fussy where she'd stuck it in him.

"Because," she said, emphasizing every word. "I don't want trackers on our trail. This ship makes a stop to refuel near Comodo; we'll drop off there. I said Lutie because I wanted to throw off – WHAT THE H–"

"Hello Professor Williams," a black haired girl said from the seat in front of them. She pushed her thick, round glasses back on her nose.

"What are you doing here?" Tabby asked, with a dangerous smile on her face. "How did you follow us?"

"Oh! It's Caroline," Tolby exclaimed. "Have you come to profess your undying love to me? I'm flattered, but you'll have to wait until we land until I can embrace you in my bosom- OOMPH!"

The alchemist girl shoved her vanilmirth in his face.

"Professor!" she protested. "I had a question about number 27 on the exam; it said 'conservation' but I wasn't sure whether it was talking about Goodman's theory of causal conservation, or the law of conservation!"

"Miss Cook," Tabby said. "What are you really doing here? You need to be in class right now. Go back."

"W-well," Caroline said defiantly, but flushed at the same time. "You're not a professor anymore, right? Then you can't tell me what to do anymore!" As soon as she said this, she lowered her face behind her headrest until only her glasses could be seen.

"We are now departing for Comodo," a flight attendant announced to the passengers. "Please be seated and enjoy your flight. Ah! Ma'am! Please don't attack the other passengers with your wand!"

* * *

[Author's Note] Reinbach is a meanie. Making girls cry. :(


	14. Faint Glimmer of Hope

From the Author: For those of you who've faithfully checked back on this story for updates: Thank you! I've been so busy with school... this quarter has been a whirlwind for me. All the midterms, homework, readings, and studying I've had to do has taken a serious toll on my schedule and free time.

If you haven't checked my profile since the last update, you wouldn't have known that my old computer (with this chapter and other story-related documents) completely died on me. I think it's a problem with the CPU or the motherboard. I've gotten a laptop since then (am I'm loving it) but found myself unable to find a large block of time where I could work on writing. Fortunately, I was able to remove the harddrive and retrieve important files, so I was finally able to finish this chapter. But every day, I was thinking about this story, planning, and laying out the groundwork for the plot, developing the characters, etc.

I think I can say for certain that I WILL be working on a sequel to this story; I've unwittingly invested so much into this story that I find myself unable to pull myself out of this world I've created. At the very least, I wouldn't be satisfied with publishing only one fanfiction about Argos, Kristoph Reinbach and their friends. I've actually written part of the first chapter for the sequel but it'll probably be a long time before you see it. (Graaargh! I've gotten into the habit of pressing ctrl+s whilst typing!)

The next time you (the readers) find yourselves waiting for the next chapter for huge blocks at a time with no word of an update; check my profile. I'll probably have an excus- explanation on why I haven't updated the story.

Next week will be finals week for me, and I'll hopefully be devoting myself to grueling four-hour study sessions in preparation for my exams. After that will be spring break; I'll try to work on chapter 15 by then!

FireyFlames: Fun meanie! Ahaha! That's probably the first time I've ever heard of a meanie described with such an adjective! Thanks for the positive feedback~~

seiyo: Finally, a resolution to this cliffhanger! To be honest, I didn't plan on Tabby having as large of a role she has when I first introduced her into the story... I guess Tabby as a character forced her way into a larger role!

And without further ado, the resolution to the cliffhanger you've been stuck with for at least three months!

* * *

_Assassins Guild Headquarters_

In the central room of the guild headquarters, a shaft of moonlight cascaded downwards from a window nestled squarely in the vaulted ceiling, illuminating the cast-iron statue standing in the center. Whoever had wrought Guile's image from whatever huge slab of iron must have had an enormous heaping of talent. Guile's statue stood seven feet tall, elevated on a massive pedestal, almost as if a perfect reflection of his likeness was captured into iron and frozen. Whirling around from behind his shoulder and clutched in his left hand, an iron-wrought cloak hovered while a curving dagger perched in his right hand, ready to strike.

Hama knew a work of art when he saw one. And this Statue of Guile, the most notorious assassin in the history of the guild, was a masterpiece of masterpieces. He had barely become a greenhorn assassin himself when the statue was carried into the headquarters. The previous Guild leader had requested the statue not long before he was assassinated by the current leader in a swift, violent, and bloody coup d'état, at least two decades ago.

But the era of Guile? Those years were by far, the bloodiest years in the history of the Kingdom of Rune-Midgard, and it was all because of one man, one assassin cross.

Eremes Guile.

He couldn't help the shiver from traveling down his spine every time he thought of the man's name. Back when the cities were struggling to emerge victorious over each other, struggling to gain more power in a desperate and grueling race, Guile singlehandedly carved a bloody path for Morroc, enabling the transformation of the withered, desert nomadic tribe into a threatening city with a sizeable army of assassins. Had the other rising cities not joined forces and intervened against Morroc...

Well, let's just say that all the other cities would have been under Morroc rule today.

Fortunately, Guile was long dead, and his violent campaign of blood with him. Hama was content to polishing the man's statue; after all, he did respect him as much as he feared him. There was only one other living person who could even hope to hold a candle to Guile's talent – How fitting that it should be _that _man.

* * *

_Somewhere between Comodo and Morroc Desert_

He trampled back to the clearing, swearing with each step. The sun had long since set, and the moon rose high in the sky, nestled amongst twittering stars. There was no chance that Reinbach could ever hope to track down Daphne's abductor; ever since the daylight faded, it became too dark to attempt to search for anything. Wordlessly, he stomped back to the tree where Eurie and their injured companions lay, reached into his bag and pulled out a roll of bandages.

"H-how did it go?" Eurie asked tentatively. Reinbach wanted to hurl something.

"How do you think!?" he snapped, wincing as he wrapped his wrist tightly. Eurie fell silent.

Wrapping an injured limb with a bandage was in no way a proper remedy for a fracture, but it helped nonetheless; it was nowhere as restricting as a cast, and it allowed for light usage. Reinbach tossed his head back to gulp down a white potion, grimacing at the bitter taste that crawled down his throat.

"I just don't understand," he said. "Why you would just let a complete stranger take Daphne away from here."

Eurie seemed as though she was ready to burst into tears again at any moment, but she held her mouth defiantly.

"Even if you say that," she countered. "By the time I came to, Daphne had already been long gone."

Reinbach had nothing to say to that; there was no use getting angry at her for that. He scowled and gently rubbed his wrist.

"So what now?" Eurie asked.

_What now indeed?_ There was no point in continuing their journey to Comodo without Daphne; Eurie was unable to guide them to the beach city without Nicholas anyways. They couldn't simply leave behind their injured companions; it would be tantamount to leaving them to their deaths.

"The way I see it," Reinbach admitted begrudgingly. "The only thing we can do right now is wait for our injured to get better."

* * *

_Seven years ago, Morroc Slums_

This time, he would do it. He fingered the dagger tucked in a holster in his tattered sleeve – it was heavily poisoned and the slightest cut would leave a grown man in a coma. The afternoon Morroc sun stared downwards at the desert town at a slant, casting long shadows that stretched across along the ground.

He would kill the assassin who murdered his mother. He endured that man's training, this suffering, this humiliation, for one year just for this; an entire year's worth of experience culminating for this one moment.

This time, he wasn't naive enough to hide under a shoddy tarp for a cover; most trained assassins were well wary of potential hiding spots the moment they laid eyes on them.

Richard had set up a beautiful, yet simple trap. With a yank of his wrist, a wire would trip a carefully perched barrel from the roof of the building overhead, pouring gallons of cheap oil to the ground below. Even if his trap missed his target completely, it would serve its purpose by making the ground slick, erasing any even footing. He had prepared in ahead of time a pair of spiked boots, ensuring that only he would be able to maneuver properly.

That wasn't all. His footsteps could still be heard, especially with spiked soles... but the oil would completely dampen the sounds. He could sneak up behind that man completely unnoticed, and stab him in the back with his dagger, while the assassin's attention was on the oil. He himself was soaked in the fluid, making it difficult to grab hold of him with grappling techniques, as that man was so fond of doing.

There! He caught a glimpse of a familiar gray cloak slinking through a small crowd of people, walking his direction to their scheduled training. His heart racing and breath quickening, Richard swallowed anxiously and gripped his dagger by the hilt. Everything seemed to shift deeper into focus: the oil slipping over the pores on his arm, the baking warmth of the sun, the sliding desert breezes…

Only a handful of feet… only a few more steps… NOW!

Richard gave a sharp jerk of his wrist and the barrel tripped, spilling its contents, splattering oil onto the ground. A couple of onlookers stared bewildered, while the man in the gray cloak seemed to lock up.

"Wha – "

Without wasting another second, the young boy dashed towards his mentor and plunged his knife into the man's back. The blade sunk deep between his ribs, penetrating his vitals. Without so much as a groan of pain, the man collapsed to the ground face down in a boneless heap.

He stood over the man's body, his eyes screwed shut, panting, then fell to the oily ground as well.

It was over. His hellish nightmare was finally finished.

* * *

_Somewhere between Comodo and Morroc Desert_

"Good evening," a man's voice greeted from behind his ear. Reinbach's stomach nearly leapt to his throat and he almost grabbed his Zephyrus with his broken wrist out of habit. He snapped his head towards the voice, but the man only raised his arms defensively.

"Hey now," he said. "Easy."

Only part of the man's lined face was visible under the gray hood of his cloak. He appeared to be a simple traveler, with a brown, bulky satchel clinging to his back.

"Who are you?" Reinbach demanded testily.

"You can say I'm a wandering sightseer," he said, smiling slightly. "You have injured companions, I see. They seemed poisoned."

Eurie cocked her head slightly, listening to this newcomer. It was strange; usually Eurie was very sociable no matter whom it was, but she seemed intent on observing the traveler.

"If you're fine with it, do you mind if I take a look at your friends?" he asked. "I happen to know a bit about herbal remedies and poisons."

_If he had any malicious intentions, he could have attacked them long ago, when my back was turned_, Reinbach thought. _It should be okay._

"Sure..." the young knight said. Without further ado, the traveler lowered his hood and took a closer look at Argos and dabbed gingerly on the assassin's wound. He had long, gray hair pulled back in a ponytail, but from the lines on his pale, worn face, he couldn't have been more than forty years of age. His well-defined hook nose twitched as he took a sniff of Argos's blood. A sudden, curiously indescribable expression crawled onto the man's face, replacing the one of clinical interest.

Reinbach had a sudden notion that there was much more to the traveler than seemed. Was it from the way the man carried himself? Perhaps it was the way he moved? It was hard to say.

"Poor coloring," the traveler murmured. He checked the assassin's pulse. "Erratic pulse, and... oh my. It seems as if..."

"He drank a strange red poison earlier," Reinbach said. "It increased his physical ability but..."

"My, my," the man murmured under his breath. "How surprising. What have you been doing, hmm?"

"I didn't catch your name, by the way," said the knight.

The traveler busied himself by rummaging through his bag.

"Oh, me?" he asked mildly. "Like I said earlier... I'm just a wandering traveler who happens to know a thing or two about... poisons." He pulled out a glass vial of a clear fluid and held it up towards the pale moonlight. "Ah… this should be it. Antidote to the deadly poison your friend drank."

Yanking out the cork stopper of the vial, the traveler hummed tunelessly and hovered his hand over the stomach wound. A few drops fell and sizzled immediately, causing a small plume of steam to rise. Argos grunted and his brows furrowed, but remained unconscious.

Once again, Reinbach had a nagging feeling in the back of his head that there was much more to the man than met the eye. _He definitely dodged that question just now._

He stood up and stepped closer to Nicholas's body. Eurie stirred anxiously.

"Hmm..." the traveler said. "I'm assuming that these cuts are poisoned as well?"

"We're quite certain," responded Eurie. "An assa-" she bit back a cry. Reinbach tried his best to inconspicuously elbow the dancer before she let out any more.

"...Do you happen to know who did this to him?" the man asked. "I need to know."

"The first ranked assassin cross, Remiel," the young woman continued defiantly.

"Eurie!" Reinbach snapped.

"Now, now," the traveler said. "Let's not be rude to the young missy… Remiel, Remiel, Remiel... Good grief! That man will be the end of me some day!"

"You know him?" Reinbach asked, too surprised to be on his guard.

"Know him? I spent eight straight months trying to develop an antidote to his poisons! Meanwhile, countless targets drop like flies and my client kept nagging me to work faster. You'd have to be a fool if you haven't heard of Remiel if you're in my field of work." He rummaged through his bag again and pulled out another vial; this one marked with a large, red X on the side, lifted Nicholas's chin and poured a few drops down the other man's throat. Instantly, the clown's ragged breathing evened out. "He'll recover in due time, he will."

"Thank you!" Eurie exclaimed. The traveler beamed.

"Now for this fellow here," he continued, moving onto Grant. "Hmm? He doesn't have any surface cuts."

"It was Remiel again," Reinbach said, relenting. Now that the man knew, there wasn't much point in denying the obvious. "I'm not sure what he did, but he planted his palm into his breastplate and a violet..." he was unable to find the words to describe the attack.

"Remiel again," the traveler sighed. "Probably Soul Breaker,"

"So can you do anything about it?" asked Reinbach.

"Unfortunately, no," the man replied. "As much as I would like it to be true, my knowledge of poisons doesn't solve everything. Your friend will have to recover on his own."

"I... I see," said the knight. "But he will definitely recover?"

"Most definitely, though I can't really say when; if he's hardy enough, he might wake up quite soon. It could be five minutes from now or it could be five days from now."

The traveler turned around and faced Reinbach and Eurie.

"Now," he said, his face turning a bit more business-like. "Now that I've answered your questions, I've got a few for you."

He gestured to Argos's body. "Your friend there... how long has it been since you first met him?"

Reinbach was surprised by this choice of topic. "A-a few days," he said, blinking. _What did Argos have to do with anything?_

"I see," the traveler mused. "Not very long. Has he mentioned anything about his past?"

"No..." said Reinbach slowly, unsure where the line of questioning was headed. "He and I never really talked much."

"Nothing of perhaps, about former mentors, or trainers? How about you?" he continued, looking directly at Eurie.

The dancer edged away slightly, confused.

"No..." she said quietly. "He kept to himself mostly."

The traveler looked quite disappointed. "Nothing at all, I see."

"Do you know him?" Eurie ventured.

"Your friend Argos here is an excellent assassin, He endured hellish training when he was younger. Monstrous training, and at such a young age..." his voice trailed off and his gaze turned vacant.

For the third time, warning bells rang in Reinbach's head. _How does he know Argos's name?_

"I suppose you really don't know anything about Argos," the traveler said. "Very well. I suppose I should ask you this instead."

He leaned forward, a strange glint gleaming in his eyes.

"Where is Daphne Trenton?"

Both Reinbach and Eurie jumped backwards in alarm. Reinbach snatched up his Zephyrus spear in his left hand. His heart was pounding furiously.

"How do you know about Daphne!?" he demanded.

"Everyone is so rude nowadays," the traveler sighed. "Have you forgotten? It's my turn to ask the questions."

"Who are you!?" Reinbach shouted.

"Maybe I haven't given you enough information to warrant the disclosure of Daphne Trenton's current location?" the traveler pondered aloud. "Well I suppose it couldn't be too easy..."

"WHO ARE YOU!?" Reinbach bellowed.

"Very well. You may refer to me as Ghost. I am the second ranked assassin in the Assassins Guild. Now, how about it? Will you tell me where Daphne Trenton is hidden?"

Reinbach felt his inside writhe wildly. _SECOND RANKED!?_

"Still no? How about I tell you about my relation to your friend Argos? Is that an acceptable offer?" Ghost dodged an awkward left-handed thrust from Reinbach's Zephyrus.

"Forgive me, I have been too insulting." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Ah! I will tell you something interesting. The reason why I am second ranked."

"LEAVE US!" Reinbach continued to jab clumsily with his left hand to the assassin cross, who continued to dodge.

"The reason why I am only second ranked," Ghost explained. "Is because I often toy with my targets and interfere with other assassins' hits. Remiel? That excuse for a human shouldn't even be alive. He's an abandoned failure. He couldn't even finish his job properly because of Orpheus."

Eurie gasped, trembling. "H-how do you know my brother's real name?"

Ghost looked towards the dancer, while evading Reinbach's attacks. "Oh, shall I tell you? Will it be an acceptable trade?"

"DON'T LISTEN TO HIM!" Reinbach roared, trying to land a hit.

"Shall I tell you about Orpheus or Remiel? Or even better, how the two of them are related?"

"SHUT UP!"

"It's quite comical, really. You think your merry little band of misfits managed to fend off the first ranked assassin? Do you think Remiel would go all out against a few teenagers? It's only because Orpheus happened to be amongst your number that you're still alive today. Remiel is the first ranked assassin for a reason, you see."

* * *

_Comodo bound airship_

Tabby pulled out a thin, navy-blue booklet from her bag. There was nothing on the cover, except a large white circle.

"What is that, Professor?" Neptunia asked.

"While you're traveling with me, you need to be cautious of a few things," Tabby explained, her face turning grim. Caroline peeked over from behind the seat in front of them.

She flipped the booklet open to the first page. A picture of a man with shadowed eyes and ragged indigo hair glowered back at them.

"Wh-who is that?" Caroline asked. Tabby looked around furtively.

"About ten years ago, the city of Lighthalzen was researching certain methods to increase their own military strength. It was all highly illegal of course, and it is the primary reason why the Prontera Church is so vehemently opposed to the idea of homunculus research among many other things."

"Ten years ago..." Neptunia muttered. His eyes flew wide open in shock. "Y-you mean there was a reason why the Church went on that –"

"Quiet! This isn't public knowledge!" Tabby hissed. She looked around nervously again, then continued on. "There was an idea of using blood from highly talented... individuals, soldiers, mercenaries, and warriors to create copies of the original, artificial life forms that were easy to mass produce and mobilize."

"Clones... a cloned army…" Caroline murmured.

"Yes," Tabby whispered. "For a moment, it seemed that the Lighthalzen laboratory researchers would succeed, but near the verge of completion, the Prontera Church intervened and the laboratory was shut down. The project was a failure."

"So... how does that relate to this man?"

"First of all, this is who we like to call threat #1. He's an assassin cross with deadly skill, and a remnant of the biolabs project."

* * *

_Somewhere between Comodo and Morroc_

""It all comes back to Remiel again," said Ghost.

"Him!?" Eurie asked. "Why him?"

"Your brother was involved in a Lighthalzen project ten years ago. Orpheus's magic-infused songs were necessary for animating the lifeless clones for the army they were trying to create."

"DON'T LISTEN TO HIM!" Reinbach shouted.

"I suppose you can call Remiel the prototype," the assassin cross mused. "But he was a failure, and he retained none of the original memories of the person the researchers wanted to clone. The only thing he had of his identity was a half-broken, rusted wrist-tag with R-E-M written on it. So he finds the delusional idea to claim the name Remiel in order to escape from his past."

"R-E-M?" Eurie asked.

"That's right," Ghost leered, a diabolic grin forming on his face. "R-E-M from Eremes Guile! He is the man who reflects the most notorious assassin!"

* * *

_Seven years ago, Morroc Slums_

The sound of clapping roused Richard from his daze. He snapped his attention to the source of the sound and nearly gasped when he saw his gray-cloaked mentor clapping several feet away, very much alive. His mouth went dry.

"Excellent!" the assassin lauded. "A beautiful plan, executed flawlessly! Virtually no hesitation and not a single wasted movement!"

Richard hurriedly rolled the corpse in front of him face up. A man with an unkempt, weary face gazed back at him, quite dead.

"But…" he protested. "You… this cloak…"

"Oh that?" the man asked. "I gave a homeless beggar a spare cloak and told him to come to this location. I knew you were planning something, you see. Your eyes gave it away."

"Why…" Richard muttered. "Why would you do that!? Because of you, he's dead!"

The assassin paused and cocked his head.

"Because of me?" he asked curiously. "No, no, you are quite mistaken. This man died because of _you._ You're the one who stabbed his vitals with a poisoned dagger."

Richard screwed his eyes shut and clamped his hands over his ears.

"You tricked him!" he shouted.

"You killed an innocent man!"

A part of him knew fully well that he could deny the facts as much as he wanted, but there was no avoiding the truth. Ultimately, the one who did the deed was…

"Murderer!" the man whispered. "Congratulations! You're well on your way to becoming an assassin."

"NO!" Richard screamed, his face contorted.

"How does it feel? To have taken a life with your own hands?"

"SHUT UP! IT'S YOUR FAULT!" howled the boy. "STOP IT!"

"Why are you denying this?" asked the man, as if cold-blooded murders were something to be proud of. "You've executed a flawless kill."

"Stop… get away from me…" Richard sobbed. "Get out of my life…"

"Ah, you see… that is another thing you're quite mistaken about." The man took off his hood, revealing his face for the first time to Richard. The boy edged backwards away from his mentor in fear.

"Your life? Your life doesn't belong to you anymore."

* * *

_Somewhere between Comodo and Morroc_

Reinbach almost dropped his spear as his heart almost crawled out of his throat.

"You expect me to believe this nonsense about clones and Eremes Guile?" he stammered. "There's no way that can be possible!"

"That's exactly what I'm saying," Ghost said. "Why don't you try asking your lady friend here?"

Despite the threat that the assassin cross presented, Reinbach glanced over to the dancer, who was standing nervously by the tree where their injured companions lay.

"Is it true?" he asked.

"I-It's true…" whispered Eurie, just audibly enough for them to hear. "As far as I know…"

"So how about it?" Ghost offered. "Now will you tell me where Daphne Trenton is hidden?"

A snarl crawled out of the young man's throat and his reassumed his sloppy left-handed attacking stance.

"Even if I knew, I wouldn't tell you!" Reinbach growled.

Ghost sighed and shook his head disappointedly.

"Well that's all right," he shrugged. "I wasn't planning on letting you live after telling you so much confidential information anyways." He drew from under his cloak a strange jagged pair of sandy brown katars. "It is time for you to die."

A cold sweat broke on the knight's brow and his breath became irregular. He had no idea what sort of attack to expect from the second strongest assassin cross.

"Calm down," he muttered to himself. "…Deep breaths." He forced himself to stop hyperventilating by gritting his teeth together.

In all likelihood, he was probably going to die within a matter of seconds if Ghost was serious about the battle, but he didn't want to die without a fight.

"Eurie," the knight called. "I don't know how long I can hold him off. I'm sorry, but if you want to live, you'll need to run and hide to the best of your ability."

"But –"

"No complaints! If you try to carry Argos, Captain Graves, or Nicholas with you, he will definitely catch up to you. And if that happens… Anyways, I'll try to hold him off for as long as I can."

"You?" Ghost snorted, as if the very prospect was ridiculous. "A mere knight, holding me off? You can barely even hold your weapon."

"Goodbye Daphne, wherever you are…" he whispered. "Don't stop running. Live on…"

To his surprise, the assassin cross dove and burrowed deep into the sand and out of sight.

_Wha… what's going on?_

Without warning, a row of yard-long spikes erupted out of the ground, kicking up a cloud of sand. It was the last thing that Reinbach managed to catch a glimpse of before his eyes filled up with grit and screwed shut in pain. A couple of searing, lancing cuts slashed up his calves and shins through his boots.

"Argh!"

He stumbled clumsily and painfully, and propped himself up with the butt of his spear. Blood from his legs leaked out onto the sand, leaving partial footprints scattered in an erratic pattern.

"Kristoph!" Eurie shouted. "Be careful!"

"You fool! Why are you staying here?!" Reinbach shouted. "RUN!"

He heard the next attack instead of seeing it; his eyes were full of sand and grit. Another three spikes slashed his legs. He grunted in pain and fell to his knees, panting heavily.

"It hurts, doesn't it?" Ghost voice asked him, somewhere to his left. "I prefer this method of killing because it's the most efficient and easiest way for me. If I can help it, I use methods that don't get my hands and clothes bloody."

"Kristoph!" Eurie called. He heard her muffled footsteps on sand approaching him. He wasn't sure how, but the dancer managed to find him and kneel beside him despite her blindness.

"I thought I told you to run," he panted. His eyes watered in pain, washing some of the grit out.

"There's nowhere for me to go," she said. "If Nicholas or any of you died, there would be nothing left for me."

"How touching. But you've just signed your own death warrant, young lady," Ghost deadpanned.

"Oh really?" Eurie countered. "Because just now, one of our friends woke up. Instead of worrying about me, you should pay attention to him!"

"What?" Ghost snapped his head towards the trees. There was no one in sight.

"YOU!" Argos bellowed, materializing into visibility behind Ghost. "YOU!!" He gave Ghost a vicious slash of Remiel's Moonlight daggers.

"Oh, if it isn't Richard!" Ghost greeted almost cheerfully, swaying out of reach. "Feeling better, are we?"

"SHUT UP! I THOUGHT I TOLD YOU TO GET OUT OF MY LIFE!" he screamed with rage.

"Your life? Have you forgotten? I thought I told you that your life doesn't belong to you anymore!"

"I'M GOING TO KILL YOU!" the assassin roared. He faded from sight again while Reinbach felt Eurie carefully lead him away from the other two.

"Don't be ridiculous," Ghost scoffed. "I taught you everything you know about fighting. It's because of me–" he stumbled backwards as Argos rematerialized and slashed with his drill katars.

"Hmm? It looks like you've picked up a couple of tricks."

Argos disappeared again.

"…What an annoying fighting style. Did Spider teach you this?" He shook his head disappointedly. "But even so, in the end, Spider is less battle-capable than I. Why you even choose to mimic someone who can't defeat me is beyond my comprehension."

Just as Argos rematerialized behind Ghost, ready to strike, the older man pivoted around, snatched Argos's wrists and threw him over his shoulder and face-up onto the sand. Argos's red eyes squinted in pain.

"Don't get too full of yourself just yet, Richard," Ghost said, looking downwards at the younger assassin. "You've a long path ahead of you before you will even be close to hurting me." He dove deep into the sand again.

"Argos!" Reinbach called. "He can attack from underground!"

No sooner had Argos stood up back on his feet, a row of razor sharp spikes shot out of the ground, racing to the assassin.

"Tch!" Argos sidestepped the attack by a matter of inches, but growled irately as a cloud of grit burst into his face. A second row of spikes erupted out of the sand.

"Wha – AARGH!"

One spike had lanced completely through his left calf at an angle. Blood spurted out onto the ground, mixing with the grains of sand.

"Disappointing, Richard," Ghost said, shaking his head from side to side as he emerged from underground, brushing off his gray cloak. "I hit you with my second Grimtooth attack. You're relying too much on your eyesight." He began walking towards Argos.

"G-get away from me!" Argos panicked. "Stay away!"

"Do I have to train you from the basics again?" threatened Ghost. He grabbed a fistful of cloth at Argos's neck and dragged the young man closer to him. "Sloppy, sloppy, sloppy!"

"…Do it," growled Argos.

"What?"

"Kill me! You know you want to! At least this way I won't have to look at your face again!"

The assassin cross shook his head.

"No. I'm not done with you yet." He dropped Argos and kicked him sharply in the midsection. "Stay there while I finish off those other two."

He turned and faced Reinbach and Eurie, walking casually towards them.

"Try to fight back while I kill you slowly," he smiled conversationally. "That way, it is more interesting."

_Is this it?_ Reinbach thought. _Is this how I'll die?_ _Is this how far I was able to go?_

"Eurie," he said. "Run, now. Leave me behind; I can't move anymore."

The dancer stood from his side and stepped in front of him, blocking Ghost's path to the knight.

"I can't do that," she said defiantly.

"That's enough!" Reinbach snapped. "Are you doing this because of some crazy sense of duty as our guide? Then you're fired! Go home!"

She shook her head.

"I can't do that," she repeated.

Reinbach wanted to rip his hair out. _Of all the times she could have chosen to be stubborn…_

"Give it up!" the knight growled. "You're trying to fight the second ranked assassin cross! What can you possibly hope to accomplish!"

Eurie turned and smiled sadly at him.

"All this time, I've been a burden to you," she said apologetically. "But now, it's time for me to support you. Please believe in me."

"Don't worry about us!" Reinbach shouted at Eurie. "We're going to die anyways! Get away while you can!"

Ghost sighed, his arms crossed, tapping his foot impatiently.

"Are you two finished?" he asked.

"Oh my," Eurie exclaimed pleasantly. "You were polite enough to wait for us to finish."

"Do I look like the kind of person who would need to take advantage of a cheap opening?" he frowned. His eyes narrowed

"Well, I wouldn't know," the dancer smiled. "But I do not ever recall asking you to wait for us to finish, good sir."

Ghost's face darkened.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?" yelled Reinbach. "DON'T PROVOKE HIM NEEDLESSLY!"

"You're pretty cheeky for a girl," Ghost sneered. "Very well. Since you wish to die by my hands so much, I have no choice but to oblige!" Once again he dove into the sand.

_Oh God,_ Reinbach thought. _It's over now…_

"YOU STILL HAVE TIME TO RUN!" the knight shouted. "SAVE YOURSELF!"

He heard the telltale hissing sounds of spikes erupting out of sand, rushing to Eurie. All he could do now was watch helplessly as Eurie flirted with death, walking closer to the epicenter of the Grimtooth attacks.

To his surprise, the dancer stepped out of the path of the first row.

"EURIE!" he called. "You don't know how close you were to being hit!"

A second wave of spikes raced towards her. She twisted out of harm's way once more.

"…You're getting lucky!" he shouted, as she sidestepped a third row. "You're…" his shouts died off.

The dancer dodged a fourth and a fifth wave of spikes.

"You're… getting…" Reinbach stared in numb shock as she spun away from the sixth row.

_What… what's going on? _

The grimtooth attacks began to pick up speed, erupting more and more frequently, urgently. And Eurie twisted out of the way each time, her seemingly random steps gradually resembling a dance routine.

_Is she really blind?_

Finally, the attacks stopped and Ghost burst out of the sand, gasping slightly for air, a strangely neutral expression on his visage.

"You –" he was cut short when Eurie lashed out towards his voice with a whip. She continued to attack relentlessly.

Ghost stumbled backwards out of range, staring carefully at Eurie, who stopped attacking once she realized that the assassin cross was outside of her range. Her eyes were focused on the ground, but she appeared to be paying close attention to something else.

"Now I see," he said, dodging as Eurie once again whipped the source of his voice. "You're not using your eyesight at all. You're using your ears."

He fell silent and circled around quietly.

"TO YOUR LEFT!" Reinbach shouted.

Before Eurie could react, Ghost closed in swiftly and locked her in a grappling hold.

"Not too different from what I rely on while using Grimtooth," Ghost muttered. "But had you used your eyes, you would definitely have evaded me just now. You're blind, aren't you?"

Eurie struggled and squirmed against the assassin cross's hold.

"Very interesting," Ghost muttered. "Too bad I'm going to kill you; you would have been an interesting assassin."

"NO!" yelled Reinbach.

An arrow shrieked through the air, burrowing into the sand in the spot where Ghost had been crouching just moments before.

"Get away from my sister!" a hoarse voice rasped.

Nicholas emerged from the trees, nocking another arrow onto his bowstring. He fired again, almost hitting Ghost squarely between the eyes before the assassin cross twitched his head out of the way.

"Nicholas? Is that you?" Eurie gasped. "Your voice!"

"Like insects, they come one after another –" snarled Ghost.

A swift shadow leapt from the tree canopy overhead towards the second ranker. The sound of metal striking metal split the air, and Ghost leaped backwards away from the other newcomer.

"A spider isn't an insect, Ghosty-boy," the cloaked figure said. His hood slid off, revealing shoulder-length chestnut brown locks of hair and twinkling green eyes.

"Spider!" Argos gasped.

"Hello there, sport!" Spider greeted. "You look like you've seen better days."

Just then a massive horizontal blue arc of lightning streaked from the trees, striking Ghost directly on his strange brown katars. The lightning crackled and faded. Had Ghost not defended in time, the spell would have struck him squarely in the chest.

"Kristoph!" Daphne's voice called. "Oh my God, you're hurt!" She stepped closer to the edge of the trees, the tip of her wand smoking and crackling with residual magic. It was the most welcoming sight that Reinbach could think of for months.

"Daphne!" Reinbach called. "I thought you'd been kidnapped!"

"No, I hadn't! Spider arrived and took me to a safer place temporarily. He knew that Ghost was on our trail! More importantly… your injuries!"

"And I told her to stay there, but she just wouldn't listen at all…" Spider sighed resignedly.

"Ah!" Ghost exclaimed. "Daphne Trenton!"

"Oh no you don't," Grant Graves said, stepping in front of Daphne and planting his tower shield into the ground. "You're not getting past me!"

Ghost surveyed his surroundings, counting his opponents.

"…The only way insects could hope to win," he spat, looking uncharacteristically angry. "By sheer numbers!"

With a whirl of his cloak, he faded from sight. Light footprints in the sand raced away.

Reinbach sighed deeply; he wanted to cry in relief. "Everyone's okay," he murmured. "Everyone's alright…"

"Is he gone?" Grant asked. He wobbled and fell to his knees; apparently, he was still recovering from Remiel's attack.

Spider tilted his head in the air, listening carefully.

"Yes, he's gone. But we need to start moving." He clapped his hands together and glanced around. "So, everyone! How have your days been?"

* * *

[A/N] So concludes chapter 14! Ghost is a meanie! :(

...A nice meanie? He's kinda polite.


	15. Recap

Our story thus far

We begin with a flash forward to three months after the story's setting. A grueling drawn out battle between two protagonists, Spider and Argos, and a small army of assassins takes place. Spider and Argos manage to survive, but they are not unscathed. Spider has been poisoned, and is on the verge of death. Understanding this, Argos takes a broken spear point and stabs it into Spider's vitals.

The story's real setting is in the Desert City Morroc, to where Spider has guided a mysterious female traveler named Daphne Trenton. They depart, and Spider is summoned by the guild leader for another mission. He is to make sure Argos (a newly turned assassin and one of our protagonists) kills an individual known as the starling, then kill Argos himself. Spider suspects the Pope hired the hit on the starling, but we will later come to see that is highly unreasonable. The starling is actually the princess of Prontera; removing the princess would place the Pope closer to seizing power in Prontera.

Unbeknownst to many, Spider is actually a member of a secret ring of individuals known as the Circle. The Circle is an alliance of transcendent, high-profile characters from various cities that ironically, 'transcends' the complex political network and feuds between their respective conflicting cities. The main goal of the Circle is to prevent war from breaking out on the continent of Rune Midgard. Killing the starling would mean exactly that, but Spider has no intentions of fulfilling his mission. He tries to convince Argos to do the same.

However, Argos considers the hit a stepping stone to his goal of revenge against his former teacher Ghost, an Assassin Cross. It is not until he chances upon an encounter with Daphne Trenton and discovers that she is the individual known as the starling, he reconsiders. Argos is secretly a half-brother to Daphne Trenton and the son of the ailing king of Prontera, but was thrown out of the castle with his now deceased concubine mother. Daphne has been working at an orphanage in Morroc, helping children. She has formed a tight bond with a child named Rachel.

Meanwhile in Prontera, Captain Grant Graves, a Paladin and a member of the Circle, and a young knight Kristoph Reinbach, are sent on a mission by the Pope to retrieve Daphne Trenton from Morroc. Grant Graves also understands that the Pope intends to have Daphne Trenton executed, and plans to escort Daphne to safety. He is surprised to learn that Kristoph Reinbach (another one of our protagonists) is a childhood friend of Daphne. The two of them and a handful of other knights and crusaders disembark for Morroc. Among them is fellow knight Olin Ozworth, and a crusader, Juniper Weiss.

During their travels, they are attacked by a former Lord Knight Alexei Volkov and a gang of rogues in a raid and lose a member of their group, but manage to fend them off. They are once again ambushed by Volkov's gang near Morroc; it is during this attack that Reinbach somehow awakens an ability to enter the berserk state, a fearsome and reckless boost of abilities only available to Lord Knights. The Prontera riders manage to chase off Volkov's gang when reinforcements arrive.

Reinbach encounters Argos later that night. Each believes the other has orders to kill Daphne, and briefly fight. A rivalry is formed. The fight ends when Spider's signal is set off, warning Argos of a potential attack on Daphne. The two of them race back to the princess just in time to save her from a mercenary Stalker named Colette, who manages to critically injure Daphne and disarm Argos. Reinbach enters the berserk state and fends off the Stalker. Colette disappears when Spider and Grant arrive.

Another wrench further complicates their plans when the Assassin Cross Raal attacks Spider and Argos. The group believes Spider to be dead from a huge explosion in their battle. We find out later that Raal survives the blast relatively unscratched. Spider is saved by Colette, whose motives are unknown.

It is decided that staying in Morroc would be too dangerous for Daphne, as there are too many assassin crosses in the desert city. Grant orders the other Prontera riders to return to capital without him. Olin Ozworth and Juniper Weiss leave with the other riders, feeling disheartened, betrayed, and confused.

Grant requests help from another member of the Circle, a High Priestess named Cadence Michelle Symphonia and hires a Clown named Nicholas and a dancer named Eurie to guide the group to Comodo. Cadence is unable to travel with them, but warns the group that the Pope recently appointed several individuals as interim generals, known as the Royal Justices, tasked with the job of finding those accused of treachery. They believe that the Pope will order the Royal Justices to hunt down Graves, Reinbach and Daphne.

The guides that Grant has hired seem to be doing a terrible job leading the group. To make things worse, it appears that another assassin cross is on their trail. The group run into Volkov's gang of rogues, but Volkov has gone missing and the rogues are discouraged. Kardac, a stalker, and Zimba, a rogue, warn the group to be careful. Surprisingly, the two groups separate on good terms.

The Prontera riders arrive at the capital and unwittingly deliver a secret message of Grant's. She understands and immediately leaves for Yuno, with the Royal Justice of Monks hot on her trail. Unfortunately, two students are sucked up in the whirlwind of events and she takes them away from Yuno academy to Comodo, where Grant has told her to travel to for safety. The two students are Tolby Neptunia, a young male sage, and Caroline Cook, a young female alchemist.

We find out that Volkov has been chosen by the Pope to lead the Prontera knights as a Royal Justice. Virtually all of the knights begin to question the Pope's decision, especially Ozworth, but they stay true to the chain of command and must follow Volkov. Elsewhere, Uriel Margaret, a paladin, is chosen as the Royal Justice of Crusaders, and we find out that Weiss is under his command as well.

It isn't long after Grant's group separates from Volkov's gang, that they are attacked by the first ranked assassin cross, Remiel. He quickly incapacitates Grant and Argos, forcing the rest of the group to run into some abandoned ruins. Nicholas stays at the entrance, in order to buy Daphne, Reinbach and Eurie some time. We find out that Eurie's shoddy job as a guide is due to her blindness, which she has kept a secret. Remiel catches up in no time. He incapacitates Eurie and injures Reinbach. As he is on the verge of killing Daphne, he is assaulted by a mysterious headache caused by Nicholas' music. Argos shows up and drinks a poison that forces a temporary increase in physical abilities, chasing the first ranked assassin cross away. Nicholas and Argos fall unconscious soon afterwards.

Daphne and Reinbach are forced to carry their incapacitated companions a short distance. During the time in which Reinbach leaves and returns for water, someone has whisked away Daphne and Eurie has regain consciousness. A mysterious traveler arrives and offers help. He claims to have a knowledge of poisons and antidotes, and cures Argos and Nicholas. Having gained Eurie and Reinbach's trust, he asks where Daphne has disappeared, only to lose it again. The traveler reveals himself as the second ranked assassin cross, Ghost. Ghost offers valuable information in exchange for Daphne's location, such as the fact that Remiel is actually a failed clone of the biolabs project, and the fact that Orpheus, Nicholas' real identity, was involved. Reinbach refuses to tell Ghost, as he does not know where Daphne has been taken.

Reinbach attacks Ghost with the best of his ability, but with a fractured wrist, he is only toyed with. He is further injured. Argos regains consciousness, and we learn that he also, is unable to stand up against Ghost. He is injured as well. Only Eurie remains. The blind dancer is able to stall Ghost's attacks until Nicholas regains consciousness and Spider returns with Daphne. Ghost is forced to run.

This is only a brief recap of the entire storyline. As the author, I feel that there are many subtle aspects of the story that cannot be retold in such a summary, and I encourage you to go back and reread previous chapters. Unfortunately, I am also aware that you have lives, and may have other better things to do than reread fanfiction. XD

Sit tight folks. The next chapter will be coming up VERY shortly.


	16. Identity Revealed

See? I told you it would be up VERY shortly!  
In case you haven't noticed, the 2009 April Fools chapter is gone, and in its place is a recap of the story so far. If you're interested, click on the previous chapter and read it; it's about two pages long in a word processor. I wouldn't be surprised if many of you don't remember earlier events, it's been over a year since the first chapter.

[JenEvan]: Ghost _is_ a very sneaky, and sly individual. You pretty much hit the nail on the head when you described him as crafty. And I've been wanting to reveal Remiel's true identity for so long; I felt giddy while writing that chapter. As for the background information on Morroc, it was added inspiration that I felt fit with the story quite nicely. I'm glad you liked the April Fools chapter as well!  
Whenever I go back to reread Argos and Reinbach's antics, I can't help but chuckle as well.

[FireyFlames]: I'm actually pretty suprised and happy that you thought Ghost made the chapter interesting! And I felt he was being too much of a meanie, so I had Eurie take him down a notch by stalling him as long as she did. I'm planning to reveal more of Argos and Ghost's _unique_ relationship later on in the story, and I hope it'll develop well! And thank YOU for reviewing!

"I got the shotgun!"  
Hahaha, Ghost is so silly.

[black Fang]: Oooh! A new reader! I hope Spider's death will come to be a big surprise to us all, even if we already know what will happen.

Author's Ramblings:  
I'm actually starting to regret naming this story "An Assassin's Resolution." I didn't except Kristoph Reinbach to become such a pivotal character. It got to the point that when I think of this story, I think of Kristoph Reinbach.  
Fortunately, I feel that the story is going back on the right track by once again, putting more spotlight on everyone's favorite half-blooded, red-pupiled, weapon-switching assassin... All that's left is Spider. -_-  
This chapter ended up taking a long time to write. I'd written bits and pieces of it here and there, and I felt like I really had to force it out. Usually, when I'm well inspired, I feel that the story writes itself. (btw. Reviews make me extra inspired. :D :D :D)

Midterms coming up, and finals soon afterwards. After that is summer classes. I really hope I can find some time to squeeze in for this story. Once again, I would like to re-iterate: I do intend to finish "An Assassin's Resolution." I'm not 100% certain about a sequel, but if time permits, I would like very much to write one. I'll see how it goes once the current story is finished.

I'm estimating that the story at the halfway point now, in terms of plot.

* * *

_Comodo Beach_

"We're going to need a blood transfusion," Grant muttered, shaking his head. "You've lost too much blood; that Grimtooth attack from Ghost hit deep."

"Just stop the bleeding and bind it up," Argos growled quietly. He hated feeling weak and vulnerable. In the ruthless streets of Morroc, such feelings were useless and bred weakness and pain. The desert town spared no pity for those not strong enough to survive on their own.

"Don't forget that ambush from Remiel; he threw daggers into Richard's stomach," Daphne reminded everyone.

"Don't call me by that name!" snapped Argos.

"Remiel!?" exclaimed Spider.

"He also drank that red poison," Reinbach mentioned. "And don't get mad at Daphne!"

"HE WHAT!?" Spider nearly choked.

"Shut it, you!" Argos snarled at Reinbach, but it was too late. Spider had heard.

"What happened!" Spider demanded, looking at Reinbach.

"He drank some sort of red poison," the knight explained, jerking his head towards the assassin. "From a container shaped like a skull. It increased his speed enough to stay on par with Remiel."

Spider immediately whirled around and began poking and prodding Argos, examining the younger man's pulse and checking his pupils. Argos recoiled backwards, alarmed at Spider's invasive behavior.

"Ugh! Get off me!"

"That's strange," Spider murmured. "By all rights, you should be dead the moment you drank that poison."

"That man, Ghost," Eurie said quietly. "He treated our injured before he told us who he was."

"He was probably doing it to gain your trust," explained the assassin cross. "But even so, the effects of deadly poison should be instantaneous."

"Well, whatever happened, Argos won't be fit for travelling much longer than ten minutes unless we find a blood transfusion for him," said Grant, shaking his head. "Do you know which kind you have?"

Argos looked away unhelpfully.

"No."

"Now what?" Reinbach asked, throwing his arms into the air. "We can't just leave him here!"

"We can use my blood," Daphne said suddenly.

"What?!" nearly everyone asked. Argos looked at Daphne as if she'd suddenly sprouted wings.

"My blood is what you would call the universal donor," the witch explained. "It shouldn't matter who receives it; it'll be safe."

Reinbach opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water. It looked like no one wanted to say it.

"But…"

"But what?" Daphne asked. "We really don't have a choice."

"Well, he's a…" he paused, fishing for words. "And you're…"

"I'm royalty?" she finished his sentence. "What does that have to do with anything? He needs a blood transfusion, and he needs it now. We can't just sit around, waiting for another donor."

"I didn't ask for this!" Argos growled.

"This has nothing to do with that." Daphne rolled up her sleeve past her elbow. "This is about what you need, not what you do or don't want."

"Somebody hold him down," Grant ordered.

* * *

He took a deep breath, steeled his nerves, and stepped closer to Eurie. She was rummaging through the contents of her bag, taking note of what rations remained.

"Hello Kristoph," she greeted. "Did you need something?" Reinbach blinked.

"There you go again," he said. "Somehow, you seem to know more than you let on."

She smiled.

"After having traveled with you for a while, I can distinguish between your footsteps and breathing. If I couldn't at least do this much, I would be a failure as a guide."

"How's Nicholas… er… I suppose I should call him Orpheus now?"

"Nick will be fine," Eurie responded. "He's still not used to talking, so I'll do most of the talking while his voice recovers."

"Ah… I see. That's good to hear." He paused and scuffled his feet, looking around uncomfortably.

"How are your feet?" she asked.

"They'll be okay. Captain Graves healed them pretty well for now. When we arrive in Comodo, we'll all get some proper rest."

Once again, a tense silence hung over them. He wracked his head for more things to say, but nothing came to mind.

Finally, Reinbach's conscience couldn't hold it in anymore.

"I'm really sorry," he said.

"…Oh? Whatever for?" the dancer asked.

"Well… for being a jerk in general…" he answered lamely. For some reason, that explanation didn't seem to do justice for all his past rudeness. It sounded a lot better in his head.

For a moment, Eurie fell silent.

"…You know, I was really ashamed when you tried to push me away when we first met," the dancer said finally. "And I can really understand why; for anyone, I was too straightforward."

"You didn't really have much of a choice," Reinbach mumbled, looking away. "Because your eyesight…"

"And I felt as though I was such a burden throughout the entirety of the trip," she continued. "Getting the locations wrong, giving incorrect estimates… I was so embarrassed, I wanted to crawl into a hole and disappear."

"That's… not your fault," he said, swallowing a lump in his throat. "Again, because…"

"But what really hurt me the most was when you told me to run away during Ghost's attacks."

"I'm so sorry," he blurted out, his stomach churning guiltily. "If there's anything I can do as an apology then name it."

"It didn't help when you didn't believe in me. It was my chance to support you, instead of being supported. And once again, you told me I was lucky, or I was close to being killed, instead of having faith in my abilities."

She was really rubbing it in. Where was the usually polite, well-mannered dancer?

"But… I suppose there's one thing you can do as an apology," she said slowly.

He looked up quickly.

"Anything."

"Would you mind sitting down facing me?" she asked.

He paused, then knelt in front of her.

"Give me your hands," she said. "And close your eyes."

Reinbach hesitated.

"Wh-what are you going to do?" he couldn't help but say.

"You don't trust me?" Eurie sounded hurt.

"W-Well, it's just that–"

"Do the knights of Prontera take back their words so easily? I thought you said you would do anything."

"I-I'm sorry. Please, continue." He placed his hands in hers, and closed his eyes.

"Your eyes are closed, yes?" she asked.

"…Yes they are." He wanted to keep looking, but he couldn't bring himself to lie in front of her.

"Don't move."

He felt her hands leave his, and nearly flinched in surprise when a pair of soft hands pressed gently against his face.

"Wha?!"

"Hee hee," she giggled quietly. "I know what you look like now."

The knight suddenly found himself feeling very exposed to the blind dancer. An inexplicable heat rose to his cheeks.

"Y-you can do that!?" he spluttered. "I-I mean, you can't just go around grabbing people's faces!"

"Apology accepted," she said, with quite a naughty and mischievous smile on her face. "A-ah, what will I do? Daphne described you as such a handsome young man, and it turns out she wasn't lying!"

It felt extremely _different_ to be teased by Eurie. He wouldn't be surprised if he was blushing enough to put sunrises to shame.

"Y-you… you imp!" he stammered. "I take my leave with as much of my dignity I can muster!"

He strode away quickly.

Eurie's mischievous smile faded slightly but lingered.

"Really quite handsome," she murmured, blushing a little.

* * *

_Morroc Residence, after the explosion_

"Why did you bring me here?" Spider asked, sitting up in the cot. Colette said nothing, choosing only to casually remove her bath towel and slowly dress right in front of the assassin cross. The dimness of the room didn't do much to hide her figure.

"I don't know what you're trying to prove, but at any rate, I don't chase after teenage girls."

"Ah? You were watching?" the stalker asked flirtatiously. She made no notion of dressing quicker. "Even if you think I'm under aged, I'm actually twenty two."

"And I want my Sucsamad dagger back."

"Oh that? I used it."

"What do you mean, used it? Just give it back to me." Typically, Spider was one to womanize and play along with mind games like this, but that mischievous smirk was beginning to grate on his nerves.

"The handle. I used it on myself. I thought it was somewhat phallic in shape so – "

"I still want it back."

"It's on the dresser," she pouted. "How about giving me _your _handle in replacement?"

"Is sex all you think about, ginger?" Spider asked.

"No!" Colette said, offended. "…Okay, yes, it is."

"Why did you save me?"

Colette's smile dimmed.

"…Okay. Since you want to know so much, I'll tell you. My client can't have you dying just yet. You have a mission to accomplish."

Spider blinked in surprise. He hadn't expected her to be so frank all of a sudden.

"Let me tell you this, Quint. You think you may be saving one life by protecting that girl, but you don't realize what will happen if you fail to complete your original mission."

"Oh, trust me, redhead. I have a pretty good idea what will happen."

"Do you really?" Her smile disappeared. It was the first time Spider saw her with a serious expression. It left him feeling rather unnerved. "You think you know who she really is, but have you tried looking behind the secret life she's living?"

_Does she know!? Does she know that Daphne is the princess?_

"The starling needs to die, Quint. As an assassin cross, you should be one of the first people to understand this concept. Cut one life to save many."

She left the room, leaving Spider alone with his doubts.

* * *

_Comodo Beach, present_

He felt last of his dizziness melt away, clearing up his nausea and lightheadedness. Grant's magic managed to seal away his surface wounds well enough, but it was Daphne's blood that made him feel better.

Argos heard light footsteps approach him cautiously. He whirled around on reflex. There was a short shriek and a thump as Daphne fell backwards on the sand.

He stared at his own hand clutching Remiel's moonlight dagger, an inch away from where Daphne's neck had been a second earlier.

"Are you crazy!" Daphne exclaimed angrily.

"…Don't sneak up behind me like that," Argos deadpanned.

She stood up and brushed her clothes off gingerly.

"I'll give you that," she reluctantly admitted. "You're an assassin after all. Shadows and secrets and the like…"

"So, what do you want from me?" Argos demanded. "Unless you're in the mood for idle chatter with a trained assassin, I don't see what you stand to gain from my company."

"I was _going _to ask you how you were feeling," she huffed angrily. "But apparently, Mr. Chip-on-his-Shoulder is feeling extra chippy on his shoulder." Daphne turned and began to walk away.

He should have felt more comfortable the moment she turned around, but some indescribable feeling rose inside him; he couldn't find words or emotions to explain it. He always preferred being alone, yet a burning curiosity welled up much like an itch he couldn't scratch. Argos was forcibly reminded of his first encounter with the young witch when she was looking for Rachel.

"I don't get you," the young assassin said.

"Well I don't get you either!" Daphne retorted, turning and facing him again. "You could at least be a little grateful for what I did!"

"Grateful? What were you expecting?" he asked. "A pat on the back? Some pretty flowers? You want me to kill someone?"

"How about a thank you?" she asked.

"What do you want from me?" he pressed. "I'm an assassin – by all means, I'm a criminal! And you! You're royalty! Why would you inconvenience yourself to help me unless you have some motive!?"

"Has it ever occurred to you… that maybe… just _maybe_ I gave you some of my blood as a simple gesture of kindness?"

He stared at her blankly. _Is she serious?_

"…That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard."

"Well it's true!" she stomped.

"You think that kind of behavior is going to do anything for you? People in Morroc would laugh at altruists like you and milk everything they can while doing it."

"I'd rather be laughed at, than stand by doing nothing while people need help."

"You're a lost cause," he muttered, shaking his head from side to side.

Daphne's nostrils flared angrily.

"That's funny," she said while staring back at him incredulously. "I was thinking the same thing about you." She stormed off.

Once again, that strange feeling welled up inside of him.

"Hey," Argos called after her, completely unsure of why he was saying this. "You… you're not bad."

Daphne paused.

"You should feel flattered, princess," Spider's voice said. The witch jumped in surprise. "Knowing this fellow here, that's about as close to a 'thank you' you're going to get." He shimmered into sight.

"You assassins!" she huffed. "Do you always have to follow people invisibly like that? Can't act _normal_ for a change."

"Bad habit," Spider shrugged. "Now excuse me, princess, but I'd like a word with the kid here, if you please."

She nodded and walked away.

"Your sister's quite a handful, isn't she?" Spider asked, looking at her diminishing figure.

"Half-sister," Argos muttered. "More importantly, I thought you died when Raal lit that match."

"Hey, hey, don't insult me," the assassin cross smirked. "I can't call myself an assassin cross if I couldn't deal with a minor explosion like that!"

The two of them stared at each other, then chuckled, as if sharing a little secret only the two of them knew.

"How did you do it?" asked the younger man. Spider shook his head.

"That's a secret I'll tell you when you're older. But on the other hand, you'll need to tell me what happened during these encounters with the other rankers."

Argos' smile disappeared. He wanted to clam up immediately, especially since Spider wouldn't tell him how he survived the explosion. _This isn't fair…_

Regardless, he forced himself to relay the past day to his senior partner with as much accuracy he could manage. When he finished, Spider rubbed his chin thoughtfully, pondering the turn of events.

"… I see… It's nothing short of a miracle that everyone managed to survive as long as they did."

"Spider… what Ghost said – that Remiel had been holding back against us – is it true?"

"Ghost wasn't lying when he said that. Had Remiel been fighting at full force, it wouldn't even be a question. It'd be more of a matter of whether there would be any corpses. He isn't the first ranked assassin without reason."

"And… is he really the clone of Eremes Guile?"

"…So you've found out, huh?"

Argos nodded.

"As far as I know, yes, he was the prototype for the biolabs experiment. The guild leader wanted us to keep it under wraps for some reason. To be honest, I have no clue what business a man like him has, killing people for a living. If he keeps this up, he really will go mad unless he finds some sort of outlet for the stress of killing. Raal's outlet was her appearance and love for attention. Ghost's outlet was his tendency to play with his targets, that twisted freak. My outlet was women… And Remiel doesn't have an outlet. Frankly, I'm amazed that he's lasted as long as he has."

Argos cast his eyes down at the mention of Ghost's name.

"Speaking of which," Spider continued. "You need to think about finding an outlet yourself as well; an anchor to separate your assassin work from your personal life. It's not as urgent because you've just become an assassin recently, but it's definitely something you should think about."

"I… had one," Argos mumbled, looking at his feet. For the third time that day, a strange feeling rose inside him, a tightening around his chest. Why was he feeling this way – this sudden urge to spill his guts, clashing with the shackles around his heart? "I had a man I wanted to kill…"

Spider's expression turned stern and his brows knitted tightly together.

"Revenge isn't a healthy outlet, sport," he said quietly.

"I know!" Argos burst out, sounding pained. "When I found out I had Daphne as a half-sister, it was almost enough to make me forget about him! I wanted to learn, to find out for myself what having a family again would feel like!" He clenched his fists tightly, struggling to express his inner demons in tangible words. "But Ghost won't let me forget – he comes back to haunt me and it feels like waking up from a dream into a nightmare in hell!"

He fell on his knees to the sand, shaking slightly. Tears blurred his vision. He saw Spider step backwards in alarm at the mention of the second ranker's name.

"Ghost!?" Spider whispered, shocked. "The man you've wanted to kill?"

"Even now, I know he'll be back again for me, toying with me, torturing me," his voice trembled. He hugged himself tightly. "But I d-don't know how much more of this I can take. It feels like he's watching my every move; following me everywhere I go!"

"Hey," Spider knelt in front of the young man and placed a hand on his shoulder. "It's going to be okay."

"Quint, please…" Argos sobbed, hot tears streaming down his face. "Please help me…"

* * *

_Outskirts of Comodo_

It took the group just over an hour to hike from the beach where Ghost attacked them, to the outer reaches of the Beach City Comodo. The sight of the sun peeking over the ocean horizon, casting the gentle light of daybreak was a welcome image to the sleep deprived travelers. Soft sand glittered under their feet as the waves lapped against the shore in a soothing rhythm.

"HEEEEEYYYY YA GUYS!" a familiar voice shouted to them from behind.

Grant turned around and saw a lanky young man in the distance, running towards them and waving.

"Who is that?" Spider mumbled, squinting his eyes towards the distant figure. "Looks like a rogue – am I supposed to know him?"

"Didn't think he'd follow us all the way here," Grant grumbled. "As for who he is… I suppose I wouldn't exactly call him a friend."

"IT'S GOOD T' SEE SOME FRIENDS AGAIN!" the young man yelled to them.

"Well… at the very least, he's not an enemy," Grant sighed.

"Let's pretend we didn't hear him," Reinbach muttered. "Maybe he'll stop chasing us."

There was a general murmuring of consent and the group continued walking into the town.

"HEEYYYYYYYYY I KNOW YOU CAN HEAR ME!" the rogue yelled. His approaching voice was gradually getting louder.

"Let's walk faster," Daphne suggested. Everyone nodded in agreement.

"Good idea," Grant said. They quickened their pace.

"Does it seem like if we ignore him long enough, he'll go away?" Spider asked.

"No, it doesn't seem so," Eurie mused.

The group stopped walking and exchanged wordless glances with each other. Nicholas hoisted Eurie into his arms.

"Run!" said Argos.

"WHY'RE YA RUNNIN' AWAY!?" the rogue howled. "YA JERKS!"

With so many injured amongst them, it was clear that the rogue would catch up to the weary travelers. They stopped their ragged sprinting, relenting to the inevitable.

"How ya folks doin'?" the young man greeted, running towards them. He saw Spider and his eyes widened. "ASSASSIN CROSS!" he shrieked, and jump kicked the man squarely in the back.

Spider's eyes turned into saucers before he fell and tumbled to the ground. Nearly everyone's mouths fell open in surprise.

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!" the assassin cross shouted. "AND WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?"

Grant planted his face into his palm.

"I think I've got a pretty good understanding of what's going on here. Spider, this is Zimba. Zimba, this man is Spider. He's a friend of ours."

"Eh?" Zimba's complacent smirk dropped from his face as he faced Grant. "Ya mean he ain't the assassin cross that's been following you folks from way back when?"

"No," Grant sighed. "He's the assassin cross who helped _chase off_ the assassin cross that followed us from way back then."

Spider's gloved hand gripped tightly onto Zimba's head from behind.

"How would you like to die?" sneered Spider ominously.

"Ahaha… hahahaha," Zimba laughed nervously. "Sorry? I've got info fer ya."

Spider released his hold Zimba's slate gray hair.

"What is it?" he asked.

"So it seemed to us rogues that y'all were runnin' away from somethin'. Ain't my business what, but there's a squad of crusaders led by a paladin searchin' the desert. Some of our scouts saw 'em ridin' from Morroc."

"Uriel…" Grant said quietly, his brows drawn thoughtfully. Spider shot the paladin a glance.

"What are you talking about?"

"Uriel Margaret, a paladin and the Royal Justice of Crusaders. He's been elected by the Pope to act as the interim general while the King is bedridden."

"Margaret?" Reinbach asked. "By any chance, is he related to Caitlin Margaret, the second-in-command on our mission to Morroc?"

"Yes, they are siblings," Grant nodded. "You know what this means, don't you?"

"…We will probably meet again on opposite sides of the battlefield."

"That includes your friends Olin Ozworth and Juniper Weiss," the paladin said grimly.

Reinbach hung his head.

"I don't get this," Spider shook his head. "What's this Royal Justice business?"

"You weren't here when Cadence dropped by to tell us – the Royal Justices are the strongest of each class, chosen by the Pope to hunt down and capture those suspected of treachery against the throne. They are a newly formed handful of elites."

"That explains the name," Spider muttered. "In other words, they're going to be hunting us, I take it. That's just fantastic. We still don't know who requested the hit on the princess!"

"What princess?" Zimba blurted out, looking around.

"Any chance that group will find us here?" Grant asked the rogue. Zimba shrugged.

"Dunno." Zimba began playing with his dagger, apparently having lost interest in any princesses. He knelt to a squat and drew in the sand with the blade. "I'd say you folks have 'bout a month before they give up searchin' the desert fer hideout places."

"Then they would begin searching nearby cities," Grant mused. "Standard procedure."

"How did you find this out?" asked Spider.

"They attacked us rogues on our way to Morroc. We had to scatter in all different directions to throw 'em off."

"And you're by yourself?"

"Yup. Got nothin' else to do. You folks headed to Comodo, ain't ya?"

Spider sighed.

"Well, I suppose it is okay for you to come with us for now."

* * *

_Galapago Inn, Beach City Comodo_

"So that's the situation in a nutshell," Spider explained. "The few days of hell we endured in Morroc and on our trip here have bought us roughly a month. We will spend that one month hiding and training, in preparation for our eventual return to Prontera. As you know, we absolutely cannot return to Morroc at this point."

"Training?" Daphne asked. "Richard has Spider to train him, and Kristoph has Captain Graves, but who will be training me?"

"Gee thanks," Zimba muttered under his breath. "Let's all pretend poor little Zimba ain't here."

"Hello, Miss Trenton," a woman's voice greeted. "That would be me."

"Tabby!" Grant exclaimed. "Right on time!"

"Although I may not be the foremost expert when it comes to wizardry and witchcraft, I will do my best to help you improve." The red-haired professor smiled from the doorway. Behind her, stood Tolby Neptunia and Caroline Cook.

"H-hello," Caroline murmured, hugging her Vanilmirth homunculus tightly.

"Ah!" Neptunia sighed. "A vision of loveliness is present before me!" If it were possible for someone to waltz and swoon at the same time, the young sage certainly pulled it off as he approached Daphne's seat and knelt before her, grasping her hand. "Might you grace me with the knowledge of your name?"

"Erm… Daphne Trenton," the young witch blinked. Reinbach scowled irately.

"Oh! What a sweet, beautiful name!" He lightly brushed his lips against her knuckles.

"WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING!?" Tabby shrieked. Reinbach and to nearly everyone's surprise, Argos, immediately clamped their hands on the sage's shoulders and pulled him back.

"Knock it off!" Argos growled.

"Please excuse him," Tabby said immediately, as if apologizing for a misbehaving pet. "He's like that with every female he sees; he doesn't realize what he's just done."

"We can trust these two?" Spider asked Tabby, jerking his head towards Neptunia and Caroline. The professor nodded.

"They're just students of mine," she said. "I had no choice but to bring them here for their safety. This is Caroline Cook and Tolby Neptunia."

Grant surveyed the two former students with a critical eye.

"I won't ask why you're here," he said. "I'm assuming that you two have gotten wrapped up and involved with this situation, and have your own reasons for being here at this moment."

He crossed his arms and tightened his mouth sternly.

"Eurie and Nicholas. Although I had my initial doubts about you, you've proven me wrong and proven your worth many times over. You have my thanks."

The dancer smiled bashfully and Nicholas _hmm'ed_ a hoarse response of acknowledgement.

"Zimba. Your warning for us couldn't have come at a better time. Your group has brought to us information that most likely helped in more ways than one."

He paced back and forth, his once flawless silver armor – now decked with dents, scratches and chips from the journey – clinking softly.

"The five of you can say goodbye here."

Everyone looked at the paladin in alarm.

"We're about to be involved with something much bigger than any of our heads. The success rate of our mission is probably close to zero. But the rest of us will continue on regardless, clawing a path for ourselves with our bare hands if need be. I won't ask you to come us. I won't blame you if you don't. You all have no reason to risk your lives further."

"We have something that needs to be done," Spider continued. "The five of you should think about what to do next. You're welcome to join us, but we won't stop and wait. If you fall, we'll leave you behind."

There was a hushed silence in the room. A heavy air hung over them.

"So that's it?" Eurie's voice trembled. "Just a goodbye, after all that has happened?"

"Unfortunately, we're not here to sightsee," Grant said. "We won't have time for touring Comodo and enjoying the festivities."

"I… I thought once we would reach Comodo, we would have time to relax and have fun," the dancer said. "Part of me realized that was a distant dream when we were attacked by the first and second rankers. But still!"

"We won't be able to let our guards down even for a second," said Spider. "Grant is right. From here on out, we won't have time for relaxation."

Eurie looked crestfallen.

Nicholas coughed.

"Heh," he whispered. "You need to be more honest with yourself, Eurie. If you want to go with them, then just say it. I'll follow wherever you go."

"Nick!" The dancer threw her arms around her brother in an affectionate hug.

Zimba stood up from his chair.

"You folks seem like an interestin' bunch," he said in his slurring drawl. "I told ya before that my group went and scattered. Hey, I got nothin' better to do. Why not? I'll join ya."

Tabby looked at Neptunia and Caroline.

"It's now or never, you two. Tolby – never mind I already know your answer."

"What can I say? I am compelled to follow beauty – "

"Caroline?" Tabby interrupted.

"I-I want to help!"

"Then it's settled," Grant nodded. "We have one month to prepare for the upcoming maelstrom of events."

"One month?" Argos asked. "Do we even have the time for that? War can break out any day now."

"It's certainly true that is the case," Grant noted. "But what's important is that the Pope can't officially seize power unless he confirms the princess' death."

"That's… not entirely true," Daphne said. "Even if I'm not confirmed dead, the Pope is allowed to temporarily seize power if the current ruling King dies and no heirs are present."

"Daphne?" Eurie laughed nervously. "What might you be talking about? You speak as if you are implying something serious." Nicholas, Zimba, Caroline and Neptunia were watching her carefully.

Daphne set her mouth in firm line. Her eyes shone resolutely as she looked around the room, meeting Grant's nod and Tabby's smile. _It should be okay. Everyone in this room is trustworthy._

"That's right Eurie," the witch said. "Daphne Trenton is a cover name. I am Daphne Tristan, daughter of King Tristan III and heir to the Prontera throne!"


	17. Yesterday's Friends

Oh God, before I knew it, it's already been about two months since I last updated. O:

Sorry for the wait, people! Between summer school and *coughPlayingROagaincough* I just couldn't find my writing groove!

This chapter took a while to start; I had trouble deciding which direction to take with regards to plot and character development; but in the end, I felt that this was the best choice.

JenEvan: Hehe, right again. And just from reading this next chapter, it'll be even more clear that the shit will hit the fan. :D  
asdfasdfg: Yaaaaaaaaaaay! Another reader! And so many reviews! O_O Well it's not that I'm complaining~. Thanks for spending the time to review every chapter!  
ValkyrieX: Haha, thanks! It really makes me glad to hear that.  
kllkjk: I'm just glad that you reviewed chapter 16. Does that mean you sat through 16 chapters before reviewing? :D :D :D

* * *

_Capital City Prontera, three months later_

They were only delaying the inevitable; sooner or later, they would all fall before the might of the Pronteran knights and crusaders. His own Zephyrus had broken a long time ago – he was relying on Perceus Green's Zweihander now. It seemed ages since the day Ozworth tossed him the sword.

"Reinbach!" a voice called. The blonde knight turned his head sharply to the owner's voice. He saw Argos walking briskly towards him.

"You're not dead," Reinbach noted, nodding in relief. "Then the plan worked."

"How many from your group are still accounted for?" asked the young assassin.

Reinbach averted his gaze. "Less than half…"

"Half!?"

"It took all we had to stay alive… Zimba is missing… Juniper Weiss – he died. Olin Ozworth – I'm fairly certain he's dead. I can't say for sure whether Caroline Cook is going to survive through her injuries, and you know what happened to Neptunia… Only Captain Graves, Professor Williams, and I remain uninjured. How about on your side?"

"Spider died. Eurie and Nicholas haven't returned yet. I'm all that's left."

"Spider is dead!?"

The assassin nodded.

"Only four left…" The knight fell wearily to his armored knees to the cobblestones. "Four people against the entirety of Prontera's military…"

Argos allowed Reinbach a brief moment of mourning before speaking up.

"You know what we have to do."

Reinbach punched his fist into the ground. "…I know. We've gone too far to turn back. Even if our numbers dwindle to one, we need to keep pressing on. We're gambling everything we have on Daphne."

* * *

_Comodo smithy, present_

The man was old, but powerfully built, and it was evident even as he sat hunched over the pair of icicle katars on the shining anvil. Wrinkles lined his forehead, eyes and mouth, and a long gray mustache swung slightly as he raised and slammed his hammer down on the katars again and again, sending sparks with each blow. Sweat dripped down his heavy, drawn brows, and his eyes radiated a fierce passion that was reflected into his work. Gradually, the weapon was becoming more and more battle-worthy. A young, black-haired man watched the mastersmith work on his katars.

Richard King, codenamed Argos, had changed much during the past three weeks. His hair had grown longer in the back, similar to Spider, his senior partner's hairstyle. His red-pupil eyes, once untrusting and cynical, had grown a little less angry and bitter. He leaned against the wall of the smithy with his arms crossed, tapping his feet every once in a while, but not in an impatient manner.

Argos took a look around the sweltering smithy while the mastersmith hammered his icicle katars into shape. All along the walls hung a huge collection of weapons: axes, swords, a variety of maces, and even some iron figurines. Along one wall of the room were large crates full of ores and metals, filled to the brim. A red hot forge sat in the far corner of the smithy, occasionally belching out fumes and flames.

"Can you finish by tonight?" Argos asked.

The old man paused to wipe the sweat off his brow and gave the young assassin a stern glare.

"Don't make me laugh, punk," he growled. "Two hours."

He resumed his steady rhythm, clanging heavily.

"I'll have it picked up by then, Jefe."

Jefe only grunted in response, not stopping his rhythmic hammering.

The young assassin walked out of the smithy and was greeted by a fresh ocean breeze that felt cool in comparison to the heat inside. His hair, slightly damp with sweat, welcomed the ocean wind and ruffled slightly as Argos paused a moment to rub his stiff shoulder muscles.

_Right then,_ he thought. _I better not keep Eurie waiting._

He began strolling along the various huts and stands strewn across the beach, "accidentally" bumping into a fruit stand where a rude, fat merchant was hocking his wares.

"Watch your step, punk!" the merchant barked, his jowls of fat quivering angrily.

Argos smiled innocently.

"Ah, I apologize, sir," he said, giving a small bow of his head, with one hand behind his back clutching a shiny red apple. "That was my fault."

"Then get going!"

"Of course. My deepest apologies." The apple disappeared under his mantle.

There was a soft giggle off to the edge of the foliage where the lush, tropical trees met the beach.

"You ask him!"

"No, you do it!"

Over the past twenty days or so, ever since his arrival in Comodo, he gradually found himself smiling more, laughing more often, and tolerating the company of others. And with that gradual change, young women his age seemed to smile around him more often, look his way, and introduce themselves, among other things.

Two dancers in their teens were bantering quietly under the shade at the edge of the nearby foliage, occasionally sneaking glances at Argos. Before he met Spider, Argos would probably have been irritated, scowled at the two, and then walked away. But things were different now; rather than irritated, he found himself amused. He smirked.

Before Argos could walk back to the others in his group, one of the dancers approached him, dragging the other by hand. She flicked a long, black tassel of hair behind her ear and spoke to him confidently.

"Hi! My friend Tricia here happened to notice that you ripped off that lout Horace's merchandise, and she wanted to ask you how you do it so well."

"_Stella!_" Tricia gasped, mortified.

"What?" Stella asked, batting her friend's shoulder. "I'm just asking what you were too nervous to ask."

"Oh no, you were looking at me?" Argos sighed, feigning dismay. "How embarrassing."

The dancers tittered in amusement.

"By the way, this is Tricia, and I'm Stella – we just passed the dancer's test the other day." She held out her hand for Argos to shake.

"H-hello," Tricia said softly.

"Oh, congratulations! I'm Kristoph Reinbach," Argos greeted, smiling sweetly, and shook the proffered hand. "You must be excited."

"Don't worry, we won't tell anyone what you did," assured Stella. "No one really likes that merchant anyways."

"Right!" Tricia piped up.

Stella nudged her friend with an elbow.

"U-ummm! T-tonight! Are you busy tonight?" Tricia blushed deeply.

Argos looked upward, as if mentally checking his schedule.

"No, I believe my evening is open. Is there something you want to ask me?"

"I-If you would like, please come to the dancers' performance at sunset in the city center!"

"Ah! That sounds exciting! I'll look forward to it!" Argos said.

Tricia's already red face blushed even deeper.

"So what do you do, Kristoph?" Stella asked.

Argos paused, leaned forward and locked eyes with her. He stepped just barely inside Stella's personal space, his red ember eyes shining brightly.

"I'm an assassin," he smiled dangerously. "I kill people."

The two dancers froze, petrified.

"Here you go," Argos placed the apple in Tricia's trembling hand. She squeaked, her once flushed face now white. "You wanted one, right?" He patted Stella on the head in a friendly manner. "Show me some dance moves next time I see you, okay?" The assassin continued walking, humming.

The two of them ran without a second glance behind them.

"Ahhh… no," A black haired young sage sighed in dismay, his hand outstretched towards the fleeing dancers. "You were doing so well until that last part – why did you have to ruin it?"

"Oh, it's Tuna," Argos said.

"That's Neptunia!" the sage emphasized exasperatedly. "How many times have I told you?"

Next to him, the real Kristoph Reinbach ran a bandaged right hand through his short blonde hair.

"Could you please not use my name next time? More importantly, stop acting like that, it's… _creepy._"

"You can use my name though," Neptunia offered.

"Sure, Tuna. Pick up my icicle katars at Jefe's in two hours, then."

"It's TUNA – Aaargh! You even got me saying it! And I'm not your servant, why should I have to – "

"I'll introduce you to Stacy and Alicia next time I see them," Argos said.

"Feel free to call me Tuna!" Neptunia smiled, flashing Argos a winning smile. He turned and walked along the beach without them, with an extra bounce in his step.

"H-hey, were they really named Stacy and Alicia?" Reinbach asked quietly.

"Honestly, I don't even remember anymore," Argos admitted.

The knight shook his head, resigned. "It really is creepy seeing you act like this," he muttered. "Definitely preferred the old you."

"Hmm? Did you say something?"

"Don't keep Eurie waiting!"

* * *

_Comodo Beach_

"Here I come," Eurie said.

The blindfold fit snugly around his eyes, effectively blocking out all light. Argos took a deep breath and widened his stance. _Any moment now_. He heard soft footsteps in the sand, and twisted to the left as quickly as he could. There was a sharp crack, and he felt the whip miss his arm – by how much he did not know.

_Crack!_

Another attack – this time near his left foot. He jumped backwards with a snap of his legs, kicking up a little sand. His mind wandered back to a conversation he had with Spider a month ago.

* * *

_Three weeks ago_

"There's no telling when Ghost will drop by again," Spider said. "We need to be ready when that time comes, and we needed to be ready yesterday."

Argos nodded.

"Right now, we're in the Beach City Comodo." The older man knelt down to the sand and grabbed a fistful of sand. "We're surrounded by sand nearly everywhere we go. Already, we're at a disadvantage to Ghost's favorite attacking style…" He relaxed his grip, spilling sand between his fingers.

"Diving underground into the sand… then sending up Grimtooth spikes…"

"It's the basis of his codename: An invisible, untouchable threat, a phantom, a ghost. It's a simple strategy, but nonetheless, very effective. We've seen it for ourselves – he used earth katars. Those weapons by themselves are magically enchanted to induce temporary loss of sight into their targets: That, and the sand flying up because of the Grimtooth spikes… You understand the principle behind it, kid?"

"Basically, I need to rely less on my eyesight and more on my hearing… But that's easier said than done! Trying to see with my ears?"

Spider gave a small disappointed frown. "You've already done it before, sport."

Argos blinked in surprise. "I have?"

"Remember what the entrance to the guild headquarters looked like?"

"How could I; that place was pitch black… Ah!!!" he froze with realization.

A very vivid memory flashed in his head, of him walking blindly, but confidently down a dark corridor, being able to judge the distance in front of him by the echoes of his footsteps.

"H-how did I…"

Spider shook his head, smiling. "It's a basic assassin skill. Of course, there's a huge difference between an enclosed stone corridor and an open beach with sand. All this sand will dampen the sound, and the ambiance of the open air will make it much harder. But it's not impossible, and we have the perfect teacher for you right here."

"You mean Eurie…" Argos scowled.

"There's no one better qualified than her!" Spider argued. "She's had to rely on her hearing for years."

"So what are you saying I should do?"

"There's a specific training regimens that some knights undergo to deal with invisible types like assassins like us and rogues. Two knights are tied together by their right ankles, are blindfolded, and then take turns attacking each other."

Argos shook his head. "That sounds like the most masochistic, brutal, and senseless training method I've ever heard of."

"But it worked! Many knights reported developing a sort of intuition in battle, after going through that training. They said that their reflexes were somehow tuned to better parry attacks from unseen opponents."

"…Then are you saying Eurie and I be tied together and take turns punching each other?"

Spider gave him a slightly alarmed expression.

"That's no way to treat a lady, sport. Just watch, in one month, I'll fix that behavior of yours, mark my words."

* * *

_Present_

He twisted and dodged another crack of Eurie's whip, but lost his balance and fell to his knees. Another crack of the whip, and he found that his wrists were bound tightly, rendering him unable to move.

"Heya folks," Zimba greeted, walking onto the beach from the dense thicket. "Whaddya doin'… WOAH, WHAT'S GOIN' ON HERE?" He dropped the bag of baked goods in his arms in surprise.

To the outsider, it must have seemed suggestive indeed – A shirtless Argos, blindfolded and bound by Eurie's whip, while the dancer was standing over the assassin. Eurie immediately dropped her whip and raised her hands defensively, her face flushed with embarrassment.

"No, this – well, you see –"

"Didn't know you were into that kinda stuff!" Zimba exclaimed, looking at the two. "At least do it in private!"

"Idiot. It's training. TRAINING," Argos sighed, putting emphasis on the word. "Don't involve me in your twisted fantasies." He slid the blindfold off his head.

Zimba blinked a couple of times, and then laughed.

"Haha! Izzat so? Ya, well, I got ya folks some food here," the rogue said, while picking up the dropped bag of pastries. "Tabby, Daphne and Caroline sent 'em from where they're hidin' out."

The three of them sat down on the sand, and helped themselves to the pastries, staring quietly at the surf.

"Any word on the outside?" Eurie asked, after having been handed a roll.

"S'posed to be meetin' with a friend this afternoon," Zimba said between bites. "You remember Kardac?"

"That stalker who was keeping your group together after Volkov left?"

"Yeah, him. 'pparently he's got contacts all over Morroc, so he'll be one of the first guys to know when somethin' interestin' happens."

There was a rustling in the foliage behind them as Neptunia emerged from behind the palm trees.

"H-hey," he said. "I've brought the katars."

"Tolby!" Zimba greeted. "Doin' errands fer assassin boy now, are ya?"

"I'm a slave to no one but love!" the sage sighed dramatically. "Argos said he would introduce me to two lovely girls if I'd bring his katars back to him.

"I did, didn't I?" Argos mused, enjoying his strawberry jelly bun. "But then again, the name I used was Kristoph Reinbach; maybe it'd be better if the knight boy did it instead. If I do it, it would be lying."

"AH! You jerk!" Neptunia cried. "You tricked me again!"

Zimba burst out in hysterical laughter. "Not his fault if ya keep falling for it, Tuna!" the rogue managed. Over the past few weeks, Argos noted a lively friendship bloom between the rogue and the sage. They were on close enough terms to laugh at each other's small misfortunes with no ill intent; almost inseparable.

"Ya know, if ya wanted to meet girls so bad, why didn't ya become a bard instead? They meet plenty o' dancers 'cause of their jobs."

Neptunia sighed gloomily and looked downward. "My family wouldn't have it," he shook his head.

"Eh? Why not?" Zimba asked.

"I came from a long line of wizards and high wizards. Everyone kept on telling me I had to live up to the family name, saying things like 'Why couldn't you be more like your brother; when he was your age, he became High Wizard.' Eventually I became a sage because I couldn't take living up to my family's expectations anymore." He chuckled. "They were furious. If I had become a bard instead…" He drew an imaginary line across his neck with his finger.

"Even then!" the rogue continued, "I bet yer brother is real popular with the ladies! High Wizard at your age?"

Neptunia stared into the surf. His violet eyes looked lost, reminiscing in past memories.

"No. That guy died a long time ago."

There was an awkward silence, and all attempts to cheer Neptunia up were abandoned.

"Is Kristoph's arm still bandaged?" Eurie said, changing the subject.

"Yes'm," Zimba slurred. "That's why we're doin' the training ev'ry day now, innit?"

"Speaking of which, aren't you supposed to be training with him right now?" Argos asked.

"Hey! Zimba!" Reinbach's voice called from the distance. "Where are you!?"

"Speak of the devil," drawled the rogue. "There's the training geek right now. Why do I gotta be the one to help him?"

"Captain Graves explained it to you, didn't he?" Eurie said. "Out of all of us, you were the best suited for the job."

"Yeah, yeah," Zimba sighed. "Don't get yer panties in a bunch, I'm goin', I'm goin'." He wolfed down the last few bites of his apple fritter and stood up, brushing off sand from his pants.

Reinbach emerged from the foliage where Neptunia walked through earlier.

"There you are," he frowned. "You missed today's training too."

"Take it easy, man," said Zimba. "We still got a week or so. You want some food?"

Reinbach scowled.

"it's that kind of mentality that'll get us in trouble," the knight said. "It's almost three o' clock; we could have fit a couple of hours training by now."

"THREE!?" Zimba cried. "Holy smokes, we gotta get crackin'!"

"I'm glad you understand the – "

"No, we're supposed to meet with Kardac at three!"

"WHAT!?" Reinbach cried. "Why didn't you tell us earlier!?"

* * *

_Outside the Shellfish Pub_

The Shellfish Pub was a seedy wooden shack of a bar sitting not too far from the rhythmic surf. Raucous laughs from inside floated out into the ocean air, amidst the scattered clinking of glasses. A couple of drunk sailors stumbled outside the pub, singing tunelessly.

"Should be here," Zimba muttered. "I think."

Reinbach planted his face into his palm and sighed. "You think…" he repeated. They walked cautiously into the pub.

"If it ain't Zimba!" a male stalker with a ragged mane of black hair greeted from a stool at the bar. Sitting next to Kardac was the paladin, Grant Graves. "You still alive?" They made their way to the bar stools next to the stalker and took their seats. The bartender, noting their young appearances, eyed them critically. Argos glared back at the man, who looked away nervously.

"Howdy, Kardac!" Zimba laughed, as the two them clapped each other's hands. "Jeez, it's been what, three weeks now? You doin' okay?"

"Yeah, just about."

"Hey, kids," Grant said.

"So got any news on boss?" asked Zimba.

Kardac sobered instantly. "Yeah. We found him."

"Ya did? Where?"

"We found him leading the squadron of Prontera knights, looking for you folks."

There was a loud _bang_ as Reinbach slammed his fist into the bar counter. His knuckles were white and trembling, and his eyes wide with dismay and incredulity. Grant's brows furrowed deeply; apparently Kardac had already told him the news beforehand.

"WHAT!?" the knight shouted. The entire bar fell silent. "You mean Alexei Volkov has been chosen for the Royal Justice of Knights!?"

Neptunia's face darkened at the mention of the man's name.

"Who's this Alexei Volkov?" Eurie asked.

Grant opened his mouth to explain, but Neptunia beat him to it.

"Former Lord Knight, with a bounty of five million zeny," the sage said quietly, as the chatter in the pub returned to normal. "Wanted for highway robbery and multiple counts of murder. Though I suppose if he's the Royal Justice of Knights, then the Pope would have to pardon all his crimes first."

Kardac nodded. "I'd give them about five days before they start searching in nearby cities, and eventually show up in Comodo. If you folks are thinking about avoiding them, I suggest you start planning."

"So how d'ya know so much about our boss?" Zimba asked, looking at Neptunia.

"It's… something I'd rather not talk about."

"What's it to you, kid?" Kardac asked. "Why do you care who our boss is?"

There was a tense and awkward silence.

"I thought I told you I didn't want to talk about it," Neptunia said.

"Hey, hey," Zimba protested. "Let's just leave it at that, alright?"

"Tch." Kardac turned back to the bar with a scowl and finished the remainder of his drink in one gulp.

"So I'm sure you've expected this choice sooner or later," Grant said stern facedly. "Sooner or later, the two of you will have to choose between your former boss Volkov or us."

"Yeah," Zimba grimaced. "What a troublesome choice."

"We need to know now. Pick your allegiance."

"I'm sure I've told you before," Kardac sighed. "All we want to do is roam the deserts of Morroc with the boss again. Stuff like 'allegiance' or 'choosing sides' is too much of a hassle for us to think about. At the very least, we can safely say that we'd hate siding up with a flock of bird-riding knights and crusaders from Prontera if we had to."

"Can't even have a straight-forward answer," Grant sighed. "Well, I have to go work on some unfinished business. There's a starling that needs taking care of."

Reinbach shot him a significant glance.

"Any of you need a message delivered to the other half of our group?" the paladin asked.

"Tell Spider that training is going as planned," Argos said.

"Um… nothing comes to mind," Eurie said.

Neptunia remained silent, still brooding.

Reinbach was suddenly interested in fiddling with a lovely white flower pinned on his bandolier. Grant took note of this.

"Did you want that delivered?" he asked.

"W-well… How should I say this…" Reinbach mumbled. "If it isn't too much trouble…"

The paladin clamped his hand on the knight's shoulder firmly but gently.

"Reinbach. I'd like to talk to you about something, if you don't mind." There was something in his voice that allowed no compromise.

"Of course," the knight said. He and Grant walked to the far corner of the bar away from the other patrons and sat down at a table.

"Who is Daphne Trenton to you?" Grant asked, without preamble. Reinbach was thrown slightly off guard.

"She… well… she's a friend," the knight stammered.

Grant gave him a piercing look.

"Okay, fine," Reinbach admitted. "I've wanted to be more than just a friend for a long time now."

The paladin hung his head and sighed sadly. "I was afraid of that," he said.

"Sir?"

"You know who she is, Reinbach. You know what title she bears."

"Yes, sir," he said in a small voice. Reinbach knew instantly where this was headed.

"And you know what duty you must serve, as a knight,"

"Yes, sir," Reinbach repeated, even quieter.

"A knight exists to serve his queen. He is exactly as what his duty describes – he is a servant. I'm sorry to tell you this, but a servant and his master must never stand on equal terms."

"I-I just thought, us being childhood friends – "

"Reinbach," Grant said, looking pained. He placed his hands over the knight's. "I know it hurts. I know it seems unfair. But that's just the cruel reality of it. For you, you must never show anything beyond fealty and obedience to her. You must become less than a friend, because that's what being a knight is about. He places the will of the throne above himself."

Countless thoughts raced through his head, but Reinbach was at loss for words. Part of him wanted to deny everything that the paladin just said, but somewhere inside him, he knew that there was no running away from the truth. Grant was right. There were no excuses for his feelings for Daphne.

"…I understand," mumbled Reinbach finally, betraying his own emotions. A deep unrest stirred deeply in his chest.

"That's a good lad," Grant said quietly. "It won't be easy, cutting off your feelings. Keeping close to the queen-to-be in servitude, but distant in heart? The very idea seems preposterous, but I know you can do it. Your feelings will change."

"Yes, sir," the knight said, feeling miserable.

"It's best that I told you now," sighed Grant. "In fact, I should have noticed it earlier and had this talk as soon as possible."

For a while, the two of them sat silently at the table. Reinbach looked downwards at his hands, unable to look the paladin in the eye.

"Well," said Grant. "I suppose I should be headed off to the rendezvous point to wait for the others. Normally, I would ask you if you wanted to come along, but it would be in your best interests not to follow."

"Of course," Reinbach replied, feeling hollow.

The paladin stood up from the table and left the pub. Reinbach dragged himself slowly back to the bar.

"What did Sir Graves want?" Eurie asked.

"Er… he was just asking about my training," Reinbach lied, forcing a smile.

It was either that the strain from the fake smile was so heavy that it leaked into his voice, or Eurie's keen empathy, because she cocked her head quizzically as if detecting something different.

"Well, I'll see you folks around then," Kardac nodded. "Be prepared for what's to come." He slinked out of the pub as well.

The five of them remaining sat silently at the bar for a few minutes, while the bartender shot expectant glances at them occasionally.

"Five days, eh?" Zimba sighed. "Kinda feels surreal, don't it?"

"Yeah," Eurie said quietly.

"Well there's no point in sitting around here all afternoon," Argos said coarsely. "Let's go."

* * *

No sooner had Reinbach and the other stepped outside of the _Shellfish _Pub when they were accosted by two armored young men he hadn't seen in a long time. He froze upon seeing their faces.

"It's been a long time, Reinbach," the heavier armored of the two said. The crusader had long, wavy black hair pulled back in a ponytail, and an unusually stern visage for his age.

"H-hey," the other said, a knight with brown hair parted in the center. He looked uncomfortable.

"Weiss! Ozworth… How did you find me here?"

Juniper Weiss, the crusader, shook his head. "Two dancers told us that there was a guy named Kristoph Reinbach in the _Shellfish Pub_. It looks like we arrived just as you were about to leave."

Neptunia studied their faces carefully, taking note of Ozworth's armor.

"Hey, Kristoph," he said. "Who are these two?"

"They were a part of Captain Graves' squadron with me three weeks ago, on a mission to Morroc," the knight answered. "But I'm assuming they're now under the command of the Royal Justices."

"So that means they're with Volkov?" the sage said darkly.

Ozworth's eyes narrowed.

"That's right," he said. "But the fact that we're under Volkov's command doesn't change the fact that criminals need to brought in."

"So why are you here, then?" Argos asked, both hands disappearing under his cloak. Reinbach had a strong suspicion he knew where they were placed. "Don't tell me you came here to talk about the old days."

"Hold!" Weiss said, looking at the assassin. "We didn't come here to fight. We've come here to warn you. At nightfall this evening, the Prontera knights and crusaders will storm Comodo, looking to capture fugitives who assisted in the escape of Daphne Trenton, suspected of treason."

_Tonight!? _Reinbach thought wildly. _Didn't Kardac say we still had five days!?_

"Why are you telling us this?" Argos' eyes narrowed suspiciously. "You completely threw away your surprise advantage. Are you that certain of your victory?"

"I don't expect one of your kind to understand, assassin," Ozworth spat. "That's not how the Prontera Knights do things."

"Neither is it for the Prontera Crusaders," continued Weiss. "No useless tricks or cowardly tactics. No pulling punches – We'll charge in straightforward and true."

"It's not too late, Kristoph," Ozworth said. "Come back to Prontera now with Daphne Trenton, and your punishment will be light."

"You… you don't even know who she is, do you?" Reinbach asked through clenched teeth.

"She's a suspect for treason," Weiss stated. "That's all we need to know."

"I can't believe you guys!" Reinbach nearly shouted. "Following Volkov's command! Blindly following orders! This whole situation – doesn't it strike you the least bit strange!?"

Weiss scowled dangerously.

"You can't believe us?!" he glowered. "That's our line! Disobeying the Pope's orders! Helping fugitives escape! Are you so coddled in the head that you can't tell right from wrong!?"

"You don't understand anything!" growled Reinbach.

"The will of Prontera is absolute!" Weiss snapped, adamantly slamming the base of his shield into the ground.

They glared at each other silently, neither side refusing to budge an inch. The background noise of the bar patrons and the rhythmic waves seemed to fade away and the only thing that mattered was their clashing intentions.

"We'll see each other again at nightfall," Weiss growled lividly, pointing an armored finger at them. "Don't even think about running away." He and Ozworth turned and walked away.

"A little tense there, yeah?" Zimba said finally. "If those were yer friends before ya left Morroc, I'd hate to see who yer enemies were."

"You've already seen him," said Neptunia abruptly. "In fact, you know him well, don't you? And now he's gone and even abandoned you and the other rogues to lead a squadron of knights!"

"What're you tryin' to say!?" the rogue snarled. "You makin' fun of the boss, Tuna-boy!?"

"Hey!" Eurie pleaded. "Let's not fight, okay?"

"Eurie's right," said Reinbach. "There's no point in fighting amongst ourselves right now."

The two of them reluctantly desisted.

"So what will happen now? Are we going to leave Comodo?" Eurie asked quietly.

"No," Argos said, clenching his fists.

"What!?" she cried. "Why not?"

"We can't! We can't leave Comodo until Captain Graves comes back with the others! And what's worse is that he thinks Comodo won't be stormed until five days from now!"

Those words felt like a fist tightening around Reinbach's heart. They had no choice but to remain in Comodo for the duration of the siege to come.

"Shit!" he swore. "You're right!"

"So what do we do?" Zimba asked.

"There's only one thing _to _do," Reinbach said. "One of us will have to hurry and catch up to Captain Graves. Hopefully, we can relay the message about the unexpected change in plans. Preferably someone who can move about unnoticed because most likely, the Royal Justices are waiting for nightfall in the outskirts of Comodo. In the meantime, we need to start warning people to prepare for what's to come."

"I can do it," Argos said. "Since I can cloak, it wouldn't be a problem for me."

"Right, then," Reinbach nodded. "The rest of you, try to warn Comodo's authority figures and to the best you can to help prepare for the siege. Err… Eurie, you don't have to, because of your eyesight. Argos, before you leave, I'd like a word."

Neptunia and Zimba nodded and left. Argos waited until their diminishing figures were out of earshot before speaking.

"What did you want?"

"Out of the five of us here, I trust the two of you the most," Reinbach said. "Have you suspected it yet?"

"Yeah." Argos' eyes narrowed. "We were supposed to have five days to prepare, but Prontera already knew where to look for us. We have a rat."

"Oh!" gasped Eurie.

"Someone from within our group leaked information to Prontera," growled Reinbach. "There's no other way they could have found out so quickly. We were flawless in covering our tracks."

"More importantly, we'll have to do something about this siege at nightfall," Argos said. "We have about four hours at the most."

"Four hours, eh?" Reinbach repeated, looking at his bandaged right wrist. He clenched his fist tightly, then ripped off the bandages. "Let's see how well we do."


	18. Shifting Tides

.....omggggggggggggggg....  
Fall quarter was a nightmare. I could not for the life of me find time to write or update!  
Between a combination of all my classes, I probably had a paper every week, and midterms every other week. D: D: D:  
Even so, this is no excuse for me to be making as a writer! /wrists /wrists /wrists

But now Fall quarter is over, and winter break has started! :D :D :D Hopefully, I can crank out another couple of chapters during break.

Some of you might be weirded out by Argos's personality change, but I assure you, it's all intentional. Hopefully, I can properly convey in words what kind of person I want Argos to seem like.  
Some of you might be saddened by the fact that not all of our cast will survive... Yes, I am sad too. Whenever I think about these characters, I think about how much more they can do alive.

[FireyFlames]: The peek a boo into the future is my way of giving readers an appetizer for what's to come! But... it's been more than three months since the last update. D: You must all be starving now. Eurie and Neptunia (Tuna) both have a lot in store for them, so it'll be a while before they... possibly die? Maybe survive? I won't spoil anything.

[asdfasdfg]: LOL even some of the readers are calling him Tuna. Poor boy. I'm glad you're enjoying the story!

[eternalsnow-chrys]: If you really want to read the April Fool's Chapters, drop me a PM and I can email them to you! When the story's finished, I intend to upload everything so late-starters can enjoy them too. Hearing that you read everything in one sitting is a huge compliment, thanks. :3

[Sobriquet Nightmare]: I will try to write my time changes more clearly - thanks for the feedback. And let me assure you, I _do_ intend to finish this. I've spent a good part of yesterday laying out the blueprints for the remainder of the story, so I've got a somewhat clear image of how the plot is going to twist and turn.

To my wonderful, wonderful readers:  
Thank you for being so patient with me throughout this huge absence. This last quarter really was so busy.  
Unfortunately, the next two quarters are going to be the busiest (and last) quarters for me at my university. I find myself beginning to dread the countdown to my graduation because it would mean me leaving school, and the friends I've made throughout the years.

What this means is that I probably won't be able to find the time to update the story after New Year's Eve, for half a year. I might be able to write a little bit each day, but I doubt I will be able to write entire chapters. I would be super amazed if I managed to write the remainder of the story before winter break ends. I do want to write a few chapters while I have the time though.

On the bright side, I've also written most of chapter 1 and part of chapter 2 of the sequel! I don't plan on revealing anything until I finish this story, but I think I'm about as excited as a kid in a candy shop when I think about it!

So I will be keeping you in mind, and trying to focus on writing more during the break, instead of wasting it all by boozing and beering myself up. Please enjoy chapter 18!

* * *

_Beach City Comodo_

The sinking sun, partially covered by the ocean horizon, painted in the sky a blood red glow that gradually shifted into a royal blue. The faint, pale moon began to emerge, alongside twinkling stars and the breezes no longer carried their daylight warmth.

It would be nightfall within the hour.

The citizens of Comodo were in a nervous panic; scurrying about quickly, carrying belongings, boarding their houses shut, and taking other safety measures. Some of them - mostly bard and dancers - had offered to help protect the city. Argos didn't know if any of their actions would do any good – Reinbach said that the Prontera Knights would be very thorough.

An irritated tic formed under the assassin's eye as he thought about the knight. Something didn't sit too well with him ever since the other young man had ordered him around. Lately Reinbach had been getting too presumptuous with him; Argos would have to even the score later.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He could taste the ocean breeze and gentle sunset – in less than an hour, Argos wouldn't be surprised if the town were to be thrown into chaos. With a quick burst of concentration, he faded from sight, turning completely invisible.

"Now then," the young assassin muttered. "To reach the starling, follow the northwestern path to the outskirts of the city… Grant Graves will surely have traveled in that direction." He broke into a light-footed sprint.

* * *

_Residence, Outside of Comodo_

Spider felt something was slightly off as he opened his eyes that morning, but the room was still too dark to see clearly. All of their window shutters were to be closed and locked overnight – it was a habit he forced onto the other inhabitants of the household while they were in hiding.

He couldn't have been imagining it, could he? He did have a little alcohol to drink last night.

Something rustled directly left of him. His heart nearly jumped out of his mouth and he twisted around in his bed with lightning reflexes – to pounce, straddle and pin down the source of the noise.

Someone had been right next to him under his sheets! Without wasting any time, the assassin cross shifted his grasp onto the intruder, locking his or her arms behind their back.

"Is this how you treat all the women in bed in the morning?" the intruder asked sleepily.

Wait a minute, he knew that voice…

"What are you doing here, Colette?" Spider asked, his heart rate gradually slowing to normal.

"You don't remember?" the stalker pouted. "Must you be so cold-hearted? Don't tell me you forgot about last night!"

His eyes were beginning to adjust to the dark room. He could glimpse the figure of the woman, who wasn't wearing any…

Scratch that. He must have had a LOT of alcohol to drink last night.

"Wait, what the hell happened last night?" Spider muttered, shaking his head.

"I spiked your drink," Colette deadpanned. "Then I had my way with you for hours last night… Oh right, then there's no way you could remember that."

"Wait what!?" he exclaimed.

"Oh, I'm only kidding," the stalker snickered.

Somehow, he wasn't so sure which was truth and which wasn't. He wouldn't put it past Colette to do exactly that.

"So," he sighed. "Tell me then why you are here."

Colette craned her neck to look at him directly in the eyes, her expression serious. The effect was somewhat ruined by the compromising nature of her body position and her lack of clothing.

"It's been three weeks, Quint. Three weeks since your mission was given to you, and the starlet is still alive. It doesn't take a genius to guess how furious the assassin guild leader is." She squirmed a little against his hold.

"So how about you?" Spider asked. "Are you hunting me?"

"In a sense," she wriggled. "But more importantly, what are you going to do about your hideout here? I've managed to find you, but how long will it be until a not-so-friendly assassin cross does?"

"We're more prepared for the situation than you think," said Spider. "That's all I'll tell you. By the way, how did you find me?"

"That's not fair," Colette pouted. "By the way, is that a dagger in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?"

"Not telling you," he smirked. "I still haven't found out who hired you yet. It's only a matter of time; why don't you tell me now and get it over with?"

"That'd be a breach of contract – even if you found out, at least I wouldn't have been the one who leaked it…" she wriggled against his hold again. "…Hey! I'm trying to have a conversation here! How about letting me go?!"

"Can't do that, sweetheart; you might try to pull something sneaky on me."

She sighed.

"Don't forget this, Quint. The starling needs to die. You understand the concept 'for the greater good,' so you should understand the reason behind your hit. Even if it doesn't change the fact that the assassin guild leader may not forget you, you must carry out your original mission exactly as intended. That includes cutting tail."

Spider rubbed his head in exasperation. Colette took this chance to escape from his grasp.

"There is something you don't seem to understand here," he sighed, as she began to cloth herself. "That's the one thing I must prevent at all costs, you see."

"I will continue to remind you until you understand, Quint. Right now you are one holding the fate of Rune Midgard in his hands. You are the person most suited for preventing the imminent destruction."

* * *

_Prontera Church_

The noise of crowd could be heard even through the heavy, bolted oak doors to the balcony on the third floor. He guessed there to be roughly four thousand civilians gathered around the front of the church, waiting for his announced speech. When Pope Hibram first entered office years ago, he couldn't help but encounter a gut-wrenching terror each time he stood in front of a huge audience. Back then, he spent his nights kneeling by his bedside, praying to God feverishly for guidance and fortitude. Fortunately, he was long used to giving sermons and speeches and any anxiety that many people might have in his situation was non-existent.

"It's time, your Eminence," one of his aides said.

"Of course," Pope Hibram replied quietly, grasping the shaft of his Long Horn spear. A pair of crusaders marched forward and pushed the doors open. The massive oak doors groaned in protest, slowly giving way to the men's strength.

The volume of the crowd outside nearly doubled as soon as the doors opened, and sunlight streamed into his office, bathing the room in an ethereal glow. He stepped out of his office into the half-oval balcony; the acoustics of the balcony was perfectly shaped to amplify his voice across any huge audience that might gather.

"Children of God," he called to the masses below. "I come before you today with a message of providence." The bustle of the crowd died down, paying rapt attention to the Pope.

"Centuries ago, when the city-states as we know them were still young and striving to grow, we bonded together to bring Prontera to greatness. Back then, we were weak, young, incompetent. We had neither the finances of Alberta nor the magical arts of Geffen. We could only rely on our iron clad will and unwavering loyalty to God."

The crowd below murmured, appearing as a shimmering of movement and voices and a blur of colors.

"Armed with the power of God, Prontera gained a rapid strength, an unshakeable might that allowed us to rise above our competition, defying all odds. With an alliance between the other cities, we managed to halt the expansion of Morroc from developing into an expansive empire. God rewarded our loyalty to him with our victory."

The citizens of Prontera were primarily affiliated with the Church; nearly everyone in attendance believed the words that came out of his mouth were sanctioned by a higher divine power.

"With the power of God, we were led to victory over our enemies," he shouted, his voice reverberating across the crowd below. "With the power of God, we live in peace today as the reigning power in Rune Midgard! And once more, we must turn to the power of God to smother any threats posed against our peace."

Surprised whispers floated around in the audience.

"Yes, it is true," Pope Hibram said. "There currently exist a handful of individuals who wish to usurp the ill King Tristan from the throne, to replace him with an imposter woman claiming to be his daughter. That woman's name is Daphne Trenton, and she desires nothing else but to grab the crown for herself. As we speak, our Royal Justices are on the task of capturing Trenton, who has hidden herself in the Beach City Comodo."

* * *

_Residence, outside of Comodo_

A young woman sitting by the curtained window of the darkened room sighed despondently. She had neatly cut hair that reached halfway down her neck and deep red pupils that glowed like embers. For a moment, it seemed as if she would open the curtains to the window to peer outside, but before her hand reached to pull it open, she changed her mind and dropped her arm.

"It would be easier if you weren't sitting by the door, Daphne," Caroline stated as she walked into the room. The second girl had her hair in black pigtails and wore thick glasses. In her arms was a bulky cloth bag packed with what seemed to be herb leaves of various colors.

"I know, I know," Daphne sighed. "It's just so frustrating being cooped up inside all day without any contact with anyone from the outside. It's been at least three weeks since I left the orphanage! At least that haircut I got yesterday was a refreshing change of pace."

"It looks nice," Caroline smiled. "Hey, if you're really bored, Nick knows how to do tarot readings!"

Daphne gave the alchemist a semi-skeptical look.

"Do you really believe in those kinds of things?" she asked.

"It's more a question of how interesting it is," Caroline puffed. "At least it's better than sitting inside all day doing nothing."

"Fair enough," Daphne shrugged. "I suppose I will ask for a reading." She stood up from her chair and left the room.

Nick, or Nicholas, a clown by profession, was busying himself tuning his harp, a glowing silver instrument that looked as if it just had a thorough polishing – it reflected the flickering candlelight with a lovely luminescence.

"I hear you can do tarot readings," Daphne said, looking at Nicholas.

"Of course," Nicholas smiled, giving a small half-bow with his head. "Would you like to have your fortune read?"

"If you would be so willing." Daphne took a seat at the table in front of the clown.

With a dexterous flick of his wrist, Nicholas produced a thin deck of cards from what appeared to be nowhere. He shuffled briefly, then held out the deck to Daphne.

"Cut the deck please," he said. When Daphne had done so, Nicholas shuffled once more and dealt the cards in a fixed pattern across the table. He flipped over the first card on the wooden grain of the surface.

"The Lovers," he read, in his usual quiet voice. "It will not be before long when you will encounter someone who admires you. This person is someone you know."

Behind Daphne, Caroline tittered in a girlish manner. Daphne felt a low flush warm her cheeks. She couldn't help but picture Reinbach's face in her mind's eye.

"An upside down Temperance… this person is currently struggling with some inner turmoil and self-control. Perhaps during your encounter with him, you can help him with this problem."

He froze as he flipped over the next card, then recoiled, as though the card had burned him. A brief moment of shock flashed in his eyes, and he immediately tucked the card into his palm.

"I must apologize," he said abruptly, pocketing the card. "This tarot reading is now over." He began plucking the remainder of the cards on the table into his hands.

"What?" Daphne said, surprised. "Why? Did I do something wrong?"

"No, it is not your fault. You must forgive me – I simply cannot continue this tarot reading. I will not tell you why."

* * *

_Beach City Comodo_

A long and deep horn call pierced through the dawning air. Within seconds, the thundering sound of peco feet and war cries shook the city. The citizens of Comodo began to panic; fearful cries and wails filled the night.

"So they're here," Reinbach growled, gritting his teeth. He flexed both of his arms experimentally, wove his fingers together and stretched his forearms. It felt somewhat strange to be able to flex his right hand again. "Zimba, Eurie, if you want to back down now, it's not too late."

"Someone's gotta try to talk some sense into the boss," Zimba shrugged. He placed his ear to the ground, listening carefully in an attempt to gauge the distance of the cavalry. Eurie said nothing, only shivering with anxiety.

Behind Reinbach and Zimba stood Eurie and several other bards and dancers. They would essential for providing supportive songs and dances, as well as additional manpower.

The songs and dances from bard and dancers weren't ordinary entertainment – they had magic woven into their rhythms designed to aid or debilitate physical movement or mental focus. Reinbach remembered one of his instructors claim that one knight and one bard were better off than five knights. He wasn't sure how fifteen bards and dancers, a knight, a sage and a rogue would fare against a small army, but it was comforting to know that they weren't alone. They needed all the help they could get.

An approaching hailstorm of footsteps from the main entrance of the city alerted them of the cavalry's arrival. _Just as Weiss and Ozworth said…_

"They'll reach the city in one minute!" Zimba said. "Those guys weren't lying!"

"Right!" Reinbach yelled. "The first wave will probably be Volkov leading the Prontera knights – knights are better suited for leading a charge. The invading platoon can't all fit on the narrow beach, so expect an attack from the city entrance!" He raced to the entrance, determination set in his eyes. _Remember the training…_ "Neptunia!" he called.

"I'm on it!" the sage responded from atop a small cliff. With a few well-practiced waves of a thick tome and some mumbled incantations, a sudden breeze hitched up along the ground below in the sand ahead of Reinbach.

"Violent Gale!" Neptunia yelled. The breeze abruptly picked up tempo and grew into a small whirlwind about fifteen feet in diameter.

"Thanks!" Reinbach charged straight into the swirling wind and continued running. The wind followed him; its eye directly centered on the knight. He felt supportive magic quickening his movements and flowing through his muscles. "Here I go," he said, hefting his Zephyrus spear in his hands. "Eurie!"

"Right!"

No sooner had she said this, Reinbach heard the humming of strings and _swooshing_ of whips. Another surge of energy filled his muscles. He felt as if he could take on ten men.

The first line of cavalry galloped through the city entrance just as Eurie and Zimba caught up to him. Reinbach estimated them to be about forty-strong. They were outnumbered, but there was no telling how the battle would turn.

"Ready?" asked Zimba.

"Idiot. I wouldn't have started this if I weren't."

"That… those aren't knights!" Zimba cried. Indeed, the first wave did not consist of knights as Reinbach anticipated; they consisted of crusaders.

"Crusaders!?" Reinbach cursed.

"They knew we were anticipating this!" Zimba cried. "And they switched accordingly!"

At the center of the rushing line of crusaders, a brown-haired paladin with a neatly trimmed goatee slowed his peco to a stop.

"That's… Uriel Margaret." Reinbach noted. "The Royal Justice of Crusaders!"

"Focus your attacks on Kristoph Reinbach and ignore anyone else!" Sir Margaret shouted to the crusaders. "According to our information, his sword arm is still recovering! Fight accordingly!"

Reinbach's eyes darted to and fro in a struggle to keep his eyes on multiple opponents. Behind him, he was sure Zimba was doing the same thing, while Eurie was maintaining her supportive dances.

"We gave you your last warning, Reinbach!" Juniper Weiss roared, barreling forward with a Haedonggum sword raised high. "I won't hold back now!" He swung the blade down with brutal strength.

"I didn't expect you to!" Reinbach roared back, stepping backwards out of the attack's path. The magic-infused wind from Neptunia's spell flowed in his muscles, aiding his movements. Weiss's sword sunk deep into the beach sand. Weiss grabbed the hilt of his weapon, closed his eyes and planted both feet firmly into the ground.

_What's wrong with Weiss? _Reinbach wondered, sidestepping an attack from another crusader. _Why is he just standing there?_ …_Wait… NO!_

The crusader's eyes shot open. "GRAND CROSS!" he bellowed. A large, glowing X on the ground around the Haedonggum shone brilliantly before a cross-shaped beam of light erupted upwards.

Reinbach barely had any time to dodge the destructive holy magic. The tip of his boot was burned off in the light of the attack. Had he not been aided with Neptunia's supportive magic, Reinbach would probably be missing a lot more than the toe of his boot.

"These guys!" growled Zimba. "They're persistent!"

A smoldering X on the sand was left in the aftermath of the Grand Cross. It would be bad news to be hit by that magic.

A small trickle of blood flowed from Weiss's mouth and nostrils.

"The next one won't miss," he said, spitting blood.

"Weiss… that attack…"

"Showing pity?" Weiss snarled. "Is that something you can afford to do, Reinbach? I learned Grand Cross knowing what would happen to me! I knew what my decision would cost me! Don't tell me you didn't have the resolve when you defected!"

"Kristoph!" Neptunia shouted. "The shore!"

Reinbach glanced at the shore; his insides squirmed wildly. Another platoon of cavalry was charging them from atop a narrow sandbar – about fifty crusaders.

_That sandbar wasn't there earlier!_ he cursed. _Why is it there now!? _A cold, sinking feeling settled in his stomach.

The low tide.

The sandbar, submersed underwater and completely invisible a few hours ago, was completely unaccounted for. As soon as the sun had set, the receding tide made the sandbar traversable and accessible from a distant peninsula.

"Damn… DAMN IT!" he swore. "PULL BACK TO THE TREES!"

"GRAND CROSS!" Weiss bellowed.

Reinbach barely had enough time to dodge the second attack. Weiss coughed into his hands – blood splattered onto the palm of his leather glove.

* * *

_Three weeks ago, Comodo Residence_

"And so," Grant Graves said, "We'll have you trained by Zimba here."

"Yo!" Zimba beamed.

Reinbach blinked in surprise at Zimba, then looked at the paladin.

"Sir?"

"As you are right now, I can't help you with your training," Grant said. "Your sword-arm has fractured and needs rest. Without a high priest, it will take a few weeks for it to return to normal. My healing can only do so much. As such, none of the training regimens that I'm authorized to assign will be any use."

"I still don't see what Zimba has to do with this."

"Zimba… is uncommon, in a sense," said Grant. "We were lucky to have him on our team."

"Let me demonstrate," Spider called from across the room. He pulled an orange from under his cloak and hefted it back and forth between hands, then without warning, hurled the fruit at Zimba.

"Oi!" Zimba yelped. He caught the offending fruit a few inches before it hit his face.

"And… once again." Spider hurled a second orange at the rogue.

"Stop it!" cried Zimba, catching the second fruit in his other hand.

"You…" Reinbach said abruptly. "Don't tell me you're left-handed!?"

"Ambix… ambides…" Zimba struggled with the word. "Eh. I can use both."

Spider threw a third orange Zimba. It hit him directly in the forehead.

"Urgh!"

"That was for drop-kicking me yesterday," Spider smirked. "Apology accepted."

"Wait," Reinbach said. "So… _he's_ going to be the one training me?"

"He's the best one for the job right now," Spider shrugged, pelting Zimba in the stomach with a fourth orange. Zimba grunted in protest.

"It ain't funny anymore," he whined.

"Is it really necessary to train my left hand?" Reinbach asked dubiously.

Grant chuckled.

"You're the last person who should be asking that, Reinbach. Let me put it this way. Most everyone in the Prontera Chivalry has a right sword-arm. Even if a knight-in-training is left-handed, their instructor is right-handed, and trains them in a right-handed fighting style. The Chivalry places an emphasis on a uniform army, and having one or two left-handed fighters is frowned upon. It's politics. Have you ever sparred against a left-handed knight?"

"No. No one fights left-handed."

"The rogues, on the other hand," Spider interrupted, "don't have such rules or traditions. No one gives ten zeny if a left-handed rogue runs amok." He threw another orange at Zimba, who barely managed to dodge.

Grant picked up two wooden training batons and tossed one to Reinbach.

"Raise your stance," he said, then gripped his own baton in his left hand. "Come attack me."

Reinbach stared blankly at Grant's left-handed stance.

"What's wrong?" Grant demanded. "Hurry and attack. Don't use your injury as an excuse; it should be strong enough to attack after I healed you yesterday."

The young knight lunged forward awkwardly, only to have his attack immediately parried. He found himself staring down the tip of Grant's baton.

"I'm… not even sure how to attack something like that," Reinbach admitted.

"And neither will any knights or crusaders we might encounter later on," Spider said. "This is a perfect opportunity. While your right hand has a chance to recover to 100%, you'll be training your left-hand until attacking with it is second nature."

"Still doesn't answer my question," Reinbach said. "Why Zimba? Can't I learn from you?"

Grant shook his head.

"I'm not a real left-handed person, and I don't know all of the left-handed sword techniques. As I said earlier, right now, Zimba is the best person for the job."

"Gee when you put it that way, it almost sound like you don't like me," Zimba pouted. "How can anyone not like me?"

* * *

_Comodo beach, present_

"CAN'T EVEN WORK IN PEACE," someone bellowed from across the small army of crusaders. There was a resounding _bang_ and a handful of crusaders were sent flying overhead. "HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO MAKE WEAPONS WITH ALL THIS VIOLENCE GOING ON!?"

Nearly everyone present couldn't help but turn their heads to look in the direction of the voice. Another handful of crusaders were knocked into the air.

"RETIREMENT ONLY A FEW MONTHS AWAY AND YOU CURSED MAGGOTS SWARM UP IN MY TOWN? I AIN'T GONNA STAND BY AND LET IT HAPPEN!"

Through the crowd of the crusaders, Reinbach caught a glimpse of an old, yet muscular man swinging a heavy hammer with a head the size of his chest. Each of his blows was wild and devastatingly brutal, yet controlled and compact – the deadliest combination. He knew without having to ask – this man was a mastersmith. Years of experience and strength were written in his swinging attacks, almost like an artform.

"Jefe!" Neptunia called.

"Leave the mastersmith to me!" Uriel Margaret roared to the crusaders. He drew a dagger from his belt and rode closer to the old man.

"YOU WANT SOME OF THIS, SONNY?" bellowed Jefe.

Margaret slashed open the skin of his own palm. Blood dripped profusely from the cut, trickling down the length of the blade. He extended his fist towards the mastersmith and pointed the dagger downward to the sand. The blood began to smolder and glow white; the glowing light extended downwards, turning the dagger into a full-length sword.

"That's Martyr's Reckoning!" a crusader remarked. "General Margaret intends to finish this quickly!"

From what Reinbach remembered from his studies, Martyr's Reckoning was a reckless maneuver that entailed coating the user's blade with his own blood. In doing so, the weapon became dangerously explosive.

Margaret swung the glowing sword towards the old mastersmith; each swing splashed a smattering of his shining blood onto his opponent. A particularly large amount landed on the Jefe's huge battle hammer and smoldered violently before exploding.

"There's no time for you to be looking away!" Weiss shouted, lunging forward with his sword. "General Margaret said your sword arm was injured! You'd better not use that as an excuse when you lose!"

Reinbach backstepped out of Weiss's attack, stared at the crusader, and then sighed. He shifted his grip on his spear.

_By shifting my grips closer together on the shaft of my spear I can increase my range at the cost of control._

"It looks like I can't hide this trump card anymore." With a well-practiced counter-thrust, Reinbach slammed the point of his spear directly into the center of Weiss's shield and knocked him backwards several steps into another crusader.

Surprise was written on Weiss's face. Reinbach could tell he was not expecting an attack from so far away. He stepped in and closed the distance between him, Weiss, and the new crusader.

_By shifting my grips further apart I can increase my control and power at the cost of range. From this close, I don't need range!_

Reinbach thrusted with his Zephyrus with rapid precision. Weiss and the other crusader were forced on the defensive. He shifted his grip again.

_If I shift my hand in such a manner, I can easily change the orientation of my weapon, and thus, the handedness of my fighting style!_

"Wha – " Weiss stumbled. "Left-handed!?"

"I didn't sit down doing nothing with a perfectly good left-hand the last few weeks!" Reinbach growled. He pushed forward, jabbing, and thrusting easily past their defense. With a well-executed twist of his spear, Reinbach forced Weiss's Haedonggum out of his hand. He shifted his handedness again and repeated the same twist on the other crusader's sword as well, sending the weapon flying.

"Urgh!" Weiss shifted his shield directly in front of him, closed his eyes and began chanting again rapidly.

_I can overextend my attacks easily without losing balance by using my spear as a counterweight!_

"I won't let you fire off another Grand Cross!" Reinbach yelled. He planted an axe-kick directly onto the top of Weiss's shield, knocking that out of his grip too, and slammed the butt of his Zephyrus into his chin. Weiss slumped to the ground, unconscious. The other crusader edged away, knowing he was clearly outmatched.

_My fighting style is constantly shifting, constantly adapting, constantly extending or retracting! It is the perfect fighting style in this situation!_

"Who's next!?" roared Reinbach.

Zimba surfaced from underground behind him, dropping from his hands several of the crusaders' weapons to the ground.

"We can do this!" he exclaimed. "That old guy bought us some time!"

* * *

_Residence in Comodo_

In the darkness of the room, Nicholas reached into his breast pocket and pulled out the card that he was so quick to put away in Daphne's presence.

"I couldn't possibly tell her. She must not know about this. No one must know about this," he quavered. "It's best that this be a secret be buried with me."

He flipped over the card and looked at the macabre image printed on it. A robed skeleton, holding a scythe. Near the top of the card, the word _Death_ was printed in curling calligraphy.

"Princess Daphne," he whispered. "Please be careful."


End file.
